


Oil and Water

by dafeedil



Series: drug!verse [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Ashton isn't in this as much as I intended for him to be, Bad Decisions, Bad Puns, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Burnplay, Car Sex, Choking, Drunken Flirting, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Kink Exploration, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mali is a worried big sister, Mild Painplay, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Partying, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Romance, Smoking, Stoner!Michael, Substance Abuse, Summer Romance, Summer Vacation, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Relationships, like just in case, punk!michael, stereotypical bad boy au, tagged as underage bc Cal is 17 and Mike's 18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:50:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3698048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dafeedil/pseuds/dafeedil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calum’s heart sinks a little bit, and he's not entirely sure why. Maybe it's because he's allowed himself to fall victim to Michael's seduction yet again, or maybe it's because he's disappointed in himself for being so willing to try something that could so easily be dangerous. Or maybe, the most likely of all, it's because he can hear Mali's voice in his head telling him how stupid he's been to have found himself—quite literally—backed against the wall like this, with a boy he barely knows whispering dirty promises into his ear when he doesn't even know the first thing about real relationships.</p><p>
  <em>Or, Calum spends a night with the boy that smells like smoke, and as it always is with bad addictions, he keeps getting sucked right back in.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oil and Water

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ithinkitsautumn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithinkitsautumn/gifts).



> Experimented with a different writing style on this work, so if it doesn't seem like me, that's why.
> 
> I started this to pull myself out of writer's block, but I finished this because a good friend told me it was the kind of theme that needed to be shared no matter what. Ily, Autumn. Thanks again for keeping me sane when this fic drove me into the ground. xx
> 
> This is quite angsty and idk if drugs are a trigger to anyone that may read this, but I should probably make it clear that all drugs used in this fic are the least addictive, "party" drugs. Only once is there mention of using a harder substance (heroin).
> 
> Playlist (made by Autumn and myself) that depicts the mood and image I wanted to set for this work can be found on Spotify [here](https://play.spotify.com/user/dafeedil13/playlist/5wdzJME29P8IGxbZ0QAmZG)

It starts on the last day of year eleven.

Calum is leaving his English III class for the final time, feeling an enormous weight lift off his shoulders with the ringing of the final bell. Luke is following close behind him, a smirk etched on his face as he mentions something about the final exam and inquiring about how Calum thinks he did on it. As usual, Calum just smiles softly and delivers back some rehearsed line about how it was probably good enough for an A. It's pretty much a lie—he can't remember the last time he got higher than a B- on anything in school.

The thing is this—Calum is stereotypically average. B student, known around campus by his face but not his name, on the varsity soccer team as their top not-actually-a-starter-quite-yet. Which he's okay with, he doesn't have any actual beef with how he's always faded into the background.

It's just a little difficult being friends with Luke sometimes, because Luke is his polar opposite. Straight A's, Homecoming King, Vice President of the National Honor Society, the whole nine. In a perfect world, they'd never have even crossed paths, but it's not a perfect world, and they've been friends since before they could walk.

"Ash said something about an end of the year bash tonight, you in?" Luke asks, bumping Calum's shoulder and giving him these pleading eyes that he only uses when he knows Calum isn't going to enjoy himself at whatever the thing he's being invited to is.

Calum groans and he pauses to think about it, but as soon as he hesitates he knows Luke's already won. If it's not an immediate 'no', Calum pretty much gives in to Luke whether he pretends to weigh the options or not.

Luke beams, probably more because he'll have a wingman at the party Ashton's supposedly invited them to than because Calum's decided to attend. The boy's a little lovesick for the student body president, the one with sandy fringe and glasses that wears sweaters with sleeves too long for his arms and knows the name of _every person on campus_ like he's paid to remember them.

"I'll swing by for you at eight.”

******

Calum's first thought when they arrive at the party is that this is definitely not the kind of extracurricular activities he'd imagine people like Luke and Ashton partaking in.

His second thought is that he might want to drink a little ( ~~a lot~~ ) tonight, because Luke's disappeared somewhere with Ashton _already_ , and he doesn't know anyone. Well, that's not entirely true; he recognizes plenty of people, has even known most of them since primary. But none of them spare him a second glance or anything to show any sign that they’ve had three years of classes together, so Calum can't bring himself to count it as knowing anyone.

It's easy enough to find the kitchen, since the layout of the house is fairly standard and easy to navigate. The room is surprisingly unpopulated, with only a few stray couples or rowdy boys doing shots, so Calum counts this decision as a win.

He fills up a solo cup with whatever's in the keg without even checking to see what it is, ignoring the way his stomach rolls at the suspicious color of the obviously impromptu cocktail the host of the party must have mixed together. Bringing the rim of the cup to his nose, he sniffs, immediately cringing and deciding to hold off on the drinking thing for now.

It's only a few minutes later before Calum decides it's too stuffy in the living room where everyone's a jumble of sweaty bodies and music that's far too loud. He starts for the back door, which he can see is cracked open, and all he can think of is the fresh air and how much he wants to _get out_ , or just _go home_.

He's still holding the cup of probably-poisonous liquor when he walks onto the back porch. It's significantly more spacious, and Calum sighs heavily in relief when the warm breeze gives him a shiver as it contrasts against the tacky sweat on the back of his neck.

It starts when he chances a glance across the porch.

There's a boy, a boy that Calum knows but has never spoken to, a boy a year ahead of him in school that graduated this year like Calum’s older sister did. A boy with jet black hair and deep blue fringe, a boy with an eyebrow piercing dressed in tight jeans with a dark colored shirt and leather jacket. A boy with a cigarette between his lips, a boy meeting Calum's eyes from across the way and an expression on his face that shows he _sees_ Calum, knows him.

The boy is standing with people that must be his friends. They're dressed similarly, passing something between them that must be a joint, if the distinct smell wasn't a tell already. When he meets Calum's gaze, though, he slips away from them easily, and nobody questions him when he leaves without a word. Calum swallows hard as the boy steps close to him—too close, the smell of smoke is still strong on him and Calum can't breathe, briefly.

It starts when the boy introduces himself.

"I'm Michael," he says, and even his words sound dark. Calum wants to hear more of them.

"Calum." He replies, and Michael nods before crinkling his nose at the drink in Calum's increasingly sweaty palm.

Michael leans in, cheek pressed to Calum's and his breath hot by Calum's ear. "Want to try something way better than the beer?"

His voice sends shivers over Calum's entire body, nerves alight and he's nodding without even thinking. Doesn't even know what he's agreeing to but he thinks that he could go anywhere with Michael in that moment, doesn't really want to know what he's agreeing to if it makes Michael stop leaning against him like this, because it feels too good.

It starts when Michael leads Calum upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms, slides up all the windows and opens a small tin can, lets Calum pick the pre-rolled joint and lights it for him. Calum coughs a lot for his first time, and it takes several hits for him to feel reasonably weightless. And while he feels like he's floating, he also feels the weight of gravity tugging him down twice as hard as normal when Michael gets his hands on him, kisses him down into the mattress and Calum doesn't even stop him. Just lets himself be kissed, moving lazily against Michael who's kissing him just as slowly, and that's how it all starts.

It's an immediate 'yes' when Luke asks if he's interested in attending another party a week later. He hasn't done anything with his summer vacation yet except laze around at home wishing his parents would have to stay late at work and his sister would go out with some friends so he could be alone in the house for just that little bit longer.

His sister, Mali, catches him sneaking out the front door at eleven o'clock, shooting him a confused look because she _knows_ he's not like this, not usually. He's never been the guy who has to ask his sister to cover for him, even though he knows she would, because he's never been invited into this party scene before. Especially not _twice_.

So he gives her a pleading look, and she nods gently, so he takes that as his cue to quietly slide out the door, letting Mali close it behind him quietly as he sprints across the lawn to Luke's car.

As they drive, he can't help but wonder if maybe Michael will be there. He hasn't stopped thinking about it, the kiss and the _high_ , not for a second. He's too nervous to ask Luke, though, because he can just _hear_ his friend's disapproving tone as he tells him drugs—even pot—are bad, and so are the boys attached to them.

The party's at a different house this time, a smaller two-story that doesn't have much space between it and the neighbors, and Calum wonders just how quickly the cops will get called on this one due to noise complaints.

"Gonna find Ashy," Luke murmurs at him, not really to him, before slipping into the crowd of people and leaving Calum alone just like last time.

The brunette huffs a little in frustration, and he doesn't even bother going off to find the alcohol this time because he's a bit skeptical due to last week's cocktail from hell.

He sticks mostly to the outskirts of the living room, occasionally checking his phone to look less awkward, which is pointless because no one ever texts him. Even Luke prefers to just call or discuss things face to face with him.

When he gets a whiff from the distinct smell of weed, Calum’s head jerks up, swiveling because maybe that means Michael's actually here, that maybe Michael will want to see him again.

His suspicions are confirmed when he sees the boy leaned against a wall across the room, hands tight in his jacket pockets as he laughs at something one of his friends says. He looks absolutely stunning, pale skin a stark contrast to the dark clothing he wears, and there's a buildup of _just_ the right amount of stubble, and Calum wants to feel it scratching at his skin desperately.

His feet are carrying him towards Michael suddenly like he can't help it, is sucked in and just too willing to _be_ sucked in to help it.

Michael grins when their eyes meet, when Calum is mere feet away. Calum opens his mouth slightly for a 'hello', but then Michael is jolting forwards and kissing him, right there in front of his friends and anyone else who might look. His tongue is in his mouth, searching, and Calum cautiously presses his own against Michael's, a spark of pride flying through him when Michael makes a pleased sound.

"Well," Calum pants when Michael finally pulls away, feels wrecked when the boy just smirks like that's not even the beginning of it. Calum hopes it’s not.

"Hey there," Michael says lowly, and it should be hard to hear over the music, but Calum hears him so clearly it's like the boys voice is the only sound in the room.

Calum smiles, a blush creeping up his face when Michael leans back in, going straight for his neck and latching his lips on, sucking hard. The brunette whimpers, arching his chest into Michael and closing his eyes as the boy works his skin, nipping and licking and Calum would be disappointed if he didn't have an angry bruise there when he woke up the next morning.

"Got something new," Michael says into his throat, the words a vibration against his Adam's apple. "Wanna try it with you. Will you try it with me?"

 _Something new_ is clearly not weed, is something potentially stronger, and Calum tenses. He's not entirely interested in getting addicted to anything, not so close to preseason in a couple months, but Michael just reaches up and soothes Calum’s collarbone with his warm hand.

"S'not dangerous, Cal. Not gonna get hooked on anything I give you." Michael explains, nuzzling his nose underneath Calum’s jaw and letting his breath fan out over the skin there.

Calum begs to differ, because Michael's given him kisses and hickeys, and he's definitely hooked on those already.

"Okay," he says anyway, feeling Michael's lips curl up into a smirk as the boy wraps his hand around Calum’s wrist and starts pulling him. Calum follows mindlessly, almost loses Michael on the crowded staircase, but eventually they make it to a bathroom attached to one of the bedrooms, one that's less crowded than the others.

Calum settles back against the wall as Michael pushes himself up to sit on the countertop, watching as Michael reaches into his jacket pockets and retrieves two small bottles that almost look like energy shots, but Calum knows better than that.

Michael glances up after he breaks the seal on one of the bottles, curling his finger towards himself to invite Calum closer. The brunette goes willingly, standing between Michael’s spread legs and awkwardly resting his hands on the boy's jean clad thighs. Michael smiles down at him softly, unscrewing the cap of the small bottle and bringing it up right under one of Calum's nostrils.

Calum recoils, caught off guard, but Michael makes a cooing noise and traces the backs of his fingers down Calum’s cheek gently. "I know, smells weird."

Calum nods, but he doesn't want to back out and disappoint Michael, not when he's looking at Calum so fondly. So he leans back in, places one of his nostrils over the bottles opening. Michael smiles, using his other hand to squeeze the unoccupied side of Calum's nose closed.

"Breath in," Michael instructs, and Calum obeys, inhales deep and his head spins instantly, dizzy with the fumes.

He pulls back, watches as Michael brings the bottle to his own nose and does the same thing, eager to follow him into the rush.

Calum’s heart is instantly pounding, and he can't really decide if he likes it or not, but his muscles start relaxing and he feels more fluid as he moves back in to Michael when the boy beckons him between his legs again.

"What is this?" Calum asks him, closing his eyes and feeling himself sway before he giggles unintentionally. Michael makes a similar noise, wrapping his legs around Calum’s waist and pulling them tightly together. Calum’s breath hitches as the movement aligns their groins, a shaky moan escaping him when he realizes he's embarrassingly hard without having even thought about it. How long has it even been since they took the first sniff?

Michael breathes out heavy through his mouth, grinding his hips into Calum’s and resting their foreheads together.

"Rush," Michael answers. "Poppers. Mate of mine said they'd be good for sex, and I wanted to try it with you." He thrusts down again, and Calum's mouth drops open in shock.

"I've never done..." Calum trails off, and Michael nods, understands Calum’s unfinished sentence.

"That's okay. We can do it like this if you want." Michael reaches behind himself, grabs the small bottle and takes a second huff, offering it to Calum who eagerly does the same.

His head’s so dizzy he doesn't even remember coming, but he knows it was _so_ good, knows it happened right in his jeans like the teenage boy he is. Knows Michael ground against him through the whole thing until he was shaking against the brunette and whispering 'Calum, _fuck_ ’ into his shoulder and following him over the edge.

He remembers they took a third hit before walking back into the party, knows Michael snuck the second bottle of Rush into Calum’s back pocket for him to use on his own later along with a kiss to his forehead before he went back to his friends and Calum went outside to walk home.

He comes down from it during the walk, crinkling his nose at the dried come in his jeans, but he still ignores his sister's worried gaze when he drags himself past her on the way to his room to sleep it all off, and he especially ignores the way she bites her tongue when his neck is covered in marks the next day.

It's only a few days later when Calum gets invited to another party, this time via a mass text, which. He's never been included in those, and he's a little alarmed when he sees the dozens of numbers he doesn't recognize replying to say they'll be there. He shoots off a text to Luke asking if he's going that night, but his best friend tells him he's going on a trip with his family the next morning and won't be back until next week. Which leaves Calum without a ride to this new address, and, according to Google Maps, this address is too far a walking distance.

He could easily just not go, but he tells himself his number was in that group text for a reason, and it's possible people could be expecting him. More importantly, _Michael_ could be expecting him.

He smiles fondly at the memories from last time, touching his bruised neck lightly with the pads of his fingers. Michael will be pleased to see they've lingered for _days_ , just as pleased as Calum had been as he looked at them in the mirror and remembered the way it felt to have Michael's hands on him, the way the head rush from the popper felt.

In the end, he decides it's best if he just asks someone for a ride, because there's no way he'll be able to make the walk back home by himself, especially not if he drinks. So he slinks downstairs where his sister is sitting on the couch with the late night talk shows playing in the background as she touches up the paint on her toenails. Their parents are asleep, have been for a couple hours, and Calum knows he could successfully sneak out now because Mali won't rat him out.

"Mali?" Calum whispers to her from the doorway, and she looks up from her work, furrowing her eyebrows at him when their identical chocolate eyes meet.

"What's up, Cal? You alright?" She inquires, sticking the brush back in the bottle of polish and tightening the cap. She eyes his outfit, pursing her lips. "You going out?"

Calum nods, biting his lip. "Yeah. Need a ride. Could you drive me?"

His sister frowns, probably because she and Calum both know he's capable of driving himself, but asking her to drive him pretty much implies he'll be some variation of under the influence by the end of the night. But all she says is, "What would mom say about the destination?"

Calum snorts a laugh, and she smiles gently, getting to her feet and grabbing the car keys off the coffee table. "Snitches get stitches," he tells her, and she rolls her eyes fondly, but he still sees sadness in them.

******

The house is bigger than either of the other houses the parties Calum's gone to have been at, meaning more people are attending, but the nearest neighbors are several miles in any direction, so noise complaints shouldn't be a real threat.

Mali pulls the car up the cul-de-sac, parking it near the curb in front of the driveway. He thanks her, opening the door and stepping out, but Mali barely even waits for him to shut it again before she's pulling the gearshift into drive and peeling out back down the street the way they came without a word. He knows she's disappointed, knows she must think he's acting out for whatever reason, but he can't bring himself to bother justifying himself to her. Not right now, not tonight. Not when he's ten yards away from the life he always wanted into but never had, not when he's finally _got it_.

So he pushes his way the nagging feeling of guilt and turns toward the house, flicking dark brown fringe out of his eyes and awkwardly rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans. He starts towards the porch, noting the empty bottles and drunken teenagers sprawled across the vast lawn.

The door is already unlatched when Calum reaches it, so he pushes firmly to open the heavy thing and winces at the pungent smell of sweat and pot. It's more overwhelming than it had been at any of the other parties, and he briefly wonders if the party has kids from a different group attending it.

His question answers itself when he sees the hanging pictures in the foyer. More specifically, the boy in them.

It's _Michael’s_ house. _Michael_ invited him here.

He considers leaving for the briefest of moments, but then a blur of leather and stubble turns the corner, and Calum can't remember anything but the heat of the bruises on his neck and the tightening of anticipation in his stomach.

"Cal," Michael says, giving him a lopsided smirk. Calum waves gently, but Michael doesn't seem particularly key on introductions at the moment. "Come get a drink with me."

Calum nods instantly, grasping Michael's hand and following him to the bar set up in the living room. His parents must be loaded, Calum realizes, once he sees the intricate artwork and industrial furnishings around the house.

Michael mixes him a drink he's never had before, and after the first sip his throat is absolutely _burning_ , but he continues on with it to appease the boy beside him.

"I didn't think you would actually come," Michael confesses, resting his palm over Calum's hip and rubbing small circles into the skin underneath his flannel.

Calum shrugs. "We had fun last time, so why not?"

The dark haired boy in front of him just keeps on smiling, a suggestive thing that Calum’s having a hard time interpreting, so he ignores it in favor of throwing back another gulp of the beverage in his hand. Michael seems pleased when he does, a flicker of lust in his eyes when Calum lowers the cup and meets the green irises with his own brown ones.

"Yeah," Michael breathes, stepping closer so that their chests are brushing, "lots of fun."

He reaches up, running his fingers over the still visible marks on Calum’s neck, chewing on his lower lip before he leans in and presses a soft kiss to the most prominent one.

"Haven't stopped thinking about you, not since that night. My hands on you, the way you sounded..." Michael murmurs hotly, and Calum feels his knees start to shake when the boy tightens his grip on Calum’s waist. Calum hopes—fuck, he _prays_ —that there will be more marks there, ones that he can press on when he inevitably has to rub one out in the shower or in his bed late at night when thoughts of Michael's mouth keep him awake.

Calum makes a choked off, pathetic noise, and it makes Michael chuckle against his throat. "You're lying," he says.

Michael shakes his head, negating Calum’s statement. "M'not. Gets me so hot every time. Could come just thinking about it."

Calum almost stops breathing then, pulling his head away to try and find fresh air, but Michael doesn't seem to like that, because he grabs both of Calum’s hips and pins them back against the wall behind the bar. He slots his leg between Calum’s, and the brunette unconsciously spreads his wider, more eager for the closeness than he even realized.

And then they're kissing, before Calum can even make sense of their new position. Only it's not the kind of kissing Calum's used to. Michael's always-pink lips are just sort of crashing into his own over and over, in this almost painful way that makes Calum hold his drink more tightly as his free hand wraps behind Michael's neck and squeezes.

To their right, someone wolf whistles, and he thinks Michael flips the provoker off because his hand leaves Calum's hip for the briefest of moments before slamming back into its death grip.

Michael shifts his leg up, the one that's positioned between Calum’s, and the movement presses his thigh firmly against Calum's already half-hard cock. He smirks against Calum’s lips when he feels the outline of it, and the brunette feels himself flushing with embarrassment. Whether it's because he's affected so quickly or because Michael's found out, he's not sure, but either way he tears himself away, tries to curl in on himself.

The dark haired boy against him doesn't appreciate that train of thought, evidently, because he reaches up and grabs Calum’s jaw roughly, jerking his head back to face Michael head on.

Instead of kissing him again like Calum expects, Michael just runs a tongue over his own lower lip, searching Calum's face like he's trying to predict what his next move will be. Calum squirms underneath the stare, whimpers when the movement shifts his groin against Michael's thigh yet again.

"Baby," Michael says lowly, and Calum stops everything, goes lax against the wall and holds his breath like he'll miss what the dark haired boy is about to say if he so much as exhales.

"Yeah?" Calum eventually asks, when Michael doesn't elaborate.

Michael smiles, continuing to keep his grip on Calum’s sharp jaw line. "I got something really fun. Better than the poppers."

Calum’s heart sinks a little bit, and he's not entirely sure why. Maybe it's because he's allowed himself to fall victim to Michael's seduction yet again, or maybe it's because he's disappointed in himself for being so willing to try something that could so easily be dangerous. Or maybe, the most likely of all, it's because he can hear Mali's voice in his head telling him how stupid he's been to have found himself—quite literally—backed against the wall like this, with a boy he barely knows whispering dirty promises into his ear when he doesn't even know the first thing about real relationships.

Regardless, Calum whispers "Show me."

******

Michael's bedroom is huge. Calum’s reminded again that his parents must have a lot of money, because Michael has all the furniture and technology Calum could only dream of affording one day.

But he doesn't get a chance to browse any of it up close, because Michael is behind him suddenly, pressing him chest-to-the-wall while he sucks at the nape of Calum's neck and snakes a hand around his front to palm the brunette through his jeans. Calum whines, tilting his head to the side and letting Michael have his way, adding to and darkening the marks already covering his neck.

"So pretty," Michael murmurs, grabbing Calum’s bulge firmly in his hand and squeezing slightly. Calum feels like the air has been punched out of his lungs, and he starts nodding, even though Michael hasn't asked him a question. He bucks up into the touch desperately, but as soon as he does the dark haired boy's hand is gone. "Follow me,” he says instead.

Calum turns to face him instantly, almost whimpering aloud at the sight of Michael's kiss-swollen lips, now angry red instead of their usual soft pink. "Where?"

Michael makes a come-here gesture with his finger, and Calum nods as he starts after the boy, following him into his adjacent bathroom. There's a bottle of pills on the counter, and next to it are two even lines of powder that instantly make Calum drop his jaw and shake his head.

"Mike, this isn't—I’m not." He stammers, taking a couple steps back. "You said fun, not—"

"Babe," Michael chuckles, slinging an arm around Calum’s waist and pulling the brunette flush against him. "It's not bad. Just crushed up Ritalin. Not even addictive, just a head rush."

Calum swallows dryly, looking up into Michael's green eyes that are swimming with lust. He's not sure if he can trust them; probably he can't. Shouldn't.

But regardless, he nods tightly, and he feels a rewarding swell in his chest when Michael smiles proudly.

"Come on then," Michael says, tugging Calum closer to the lines and taking a dollar out of his pocket. He rolls it tight, demonstrating how to hold it before he leans down, placing the end of the roll to the start of the line. He winks up at Calum before he closes his eyes, sniffing hard as he quickly sweeps up the white powder.

He cheers when he pulls himself back up, shaking his head and laughing like he can't possibly keep it all in. Eagerly, Michael hands the dollar to Calum and urges for him to do the same thing.

Calum only debates it for half a second before he leans down, praying he does it right and doesn't embarrass himself, and snorts the line.

The effect is essentially instant. His head feels dizzy—dizzier than it did with the poppers—and foggy, but also _really fucking good_ , and he makes a noise of disbelief before Michael’s slamming him against the counter and kissing him hard like he can't even help himself. Maybe he actually can't.

Kissing like this feels even better, Calum decides, like he's floating. Like every movement is easy and fast, and only seconds after their lips attach, Calum is grinding into Michael eagerly.

"My bed." Michael directs, and Calum hums an affirmation against his lips before trying to walk them backwards into the bedroom. They manage to do it relatively efficiently, only breaking apart once or twice to check footing and discard Michael’s shirt, and then Michael is pushing Calum down onto aforementioned bed and straddling his hips.

"It feels really nice," Calum whispers to him, closing his eyes and feeling his head swim. His heart rate has already picked up, and he's pretty sure he could run a 5k marathon right now if he really wanted to. (He won't, though, because Michael feels excellent above him and probably there's no marathons going on in Sydney at one in the morning.)

Michael nods, giving him a soft smirk before he kisses Calum again, slower than before but still just as desperate. He shifts his hips down, and both of them moan at the rough friction the movement creates through their jeans.

Jeans. Right. Calum’s not keen on coming in his jeans again, and this is looking to result in orgasms. Which, while he's definitely not complaining, he'd much rather not walk home in sticky pants yet again. It makes the walk of shame only that much more humiliating.

Calum reaches forward, trailing his fingers along the waistband of Michael's skinnies, glancing up for permission that he probably didn't even need to confirm, since Michael is whimpering and grunting out "Yes, _yes_ , take 'em off."

And so he grabs the button between shaking fingers and unfastens it, butterflies fluttering up in his abdomen when Michael’s breath hitches. The boy above him crawls off, standing between Calum’s spread legs at the foot of the bed as he shimmies out of the jeans. He pauses momentarily when he's done, standing there in only his briefs with the noticeable (and very prominent, fuck) outline of his erection on full display, and he glances up at Calum with an inquiring expression as he tugs at the waistline of the briefs. Not enough to pull them down, just enough to test Calum's comfort level before it goes too far.

But Calum just nods, eager for anything with his head spinning so fast, and Michael smiles appreciatively as he slips out of his underwear, too.

The brunette has to bite on his knuckles in order to repress a moan upon seeing Michael baring all, because the boy is so absolutely stunning it should be illegal. His skin is like porcelain, taut over strong but under toned muscles. His cock is an angry pink in its hardness, shiny wet at the tip, and Calum’s never had one in his mouth before but he's also never _wanted_ one in his mouth as bad as he wants Michael’s.

"You, too." Michael says, but it doesn't sound self conscious, just eager. So Calum obliges, unbuttoning the clasp on his own jeans before wiggling them over his hips. Michael helps him pull them all the way off, but before Calum can take his boxers off, Michaels straddling him again, cupping either side of his face as he leans in for a messy kiss. Calum gives it right back, planting his hands on Michael’s slim waist as a way to ground himself when he slides his tongue sloppily against the dark haired boy's.

The lack of getting off happening, though, is overwhelming, so Calum takes it upon himself to roll his hips up and into Michael’s. The dark haired boy whines down Calum’s throat, jerking himself down in retaliation just as Calum's grinding up again. This time they both make low, needy sounds, because the force of it is so much more than last time, when they had such thick material between them. This time, it's just Calum's boxers—which, if he'd been given the choice, would _not_ be on right now.

"Cal, put your hand around me," Michael breathes out, burying his face in the tanned skin of Calum’s neck, and Calum nods shakily in response.

Warily, the brunette reaches between them, sliding the pads of his fingers down Michael’s soft stomach before his knuckles bump the boy's cock. He almost reels back like he's been singed, but he finds himself unable to when Michael makes a beautiful sound—a quiet little thing that sounds so unlike him that it fascinates Calum. Intrigues him enough to kiss his temple comfortingly before wrapping his fingers around the length of Michael’s cock with more sureness.

Michael collapses further into Calum then, their chests heavy against each other as he keeps his ass in the air by holding his lower half up on his knees. Calum can’t see his face, but he can practically feel the boy's features in his neck contorting into expressions of pleasure. He barely has enough room to move his hand, but he manages; at least enough so that Michaels enjoying himself.

The dark haired boy above him starts thrusting his hips slowly, fucking into Calum's fist as best he can at the awkward angle. Calum retaliates by giving his wrist an experimental flick at the head of Michael’s cock, and the boy shudders, bites down on Calum's shoulder and cries out into the flesh.

Calum definitely doesn't mind that reaction.

The noises he's able to punch out of Michael give him a new sense of purpose, and despite having never had his hands on another boy's dick before, he feels a breach of confidence as he quickens his strokes from slow and firm to fast and hard. Michael grunts out a series of _oh oh oh_ ’s afterwards, tangling his hands in Calum's already messed up hair and absolutely _shaking_ against him.

"Fuck, feels so good, Cal. 'M already so close," Michael tells him. And that's—it's just that. He's not even asking for anything, it just feels so good that he has to _inform_ Calum, and that makes his ego boost up even further.

"Come, then," Calum says to him, surprising himself. Apparently it surprises Michael, too, because the boy chokes out a 'wow, fuck' and makes a sound like he's laughing for a half second, but it's followed by a groan so loud it's like Calum's literally yanked the orgasm out of him.

He comes over Calum's fist and between their (thankfully bare) chests, a hot and sticky mess that actually makes Calum cringe just slightly because while Michael's incredibly sexy, it's still _come,_ and that's a thing that's pretty gross in general. Calum murmurs encouragement to him throughout the aftershocks, and Michael's muscles jerk a few involuntary times before he pushes Calum's hand away and says something about it hurting too much now.

"Was that your first time?" Michael ponders a few minutes later, noninvasively. "I mean, like, because you said before about how you'd never..."

He trails off, picking his head up to peer down into Calum's eyes. Michaels are bloodshot—probably still high; Calum still feels it—like he's been crying, and they're glazed over with bliss that Calum feels so proud to have given him. "Yeah. Was my first time."

Michael emits a slow downward whistle. "Never would've thought. Honest." He smirks down at the tanned boy, and Calum blushes when Michael rewards him with a gentle kiss. The boy cringes as he shifts and feels the slickness drying between them, but he brings his solemn expression back when he looks back into Calum's eyes.

"What?" Calum asks after a few seconds of silence.

"Just..." Michael trails off, bringing a hand up to brush some sweaty fringe out of Calum's face. "I like you. I wanna do this with just you, I think. Do you want that? With just me?"

He looks at Calum like it’s a serious question, which it seems to be. But he also looks at Calum like he means it, like he truly wants Calum to consider his answer because it means that much.

But Calum can't give him that, not with his head in high gear and slowed perception of time. So he just gives him a tight nod, which Michael must find good enough, because he kisses Calum's lips once before moving those kisses down his torso.

"Perfect," Michael whispers happily as he dips his hand below Calum's waistband to return the favor.

******

He wakes up the next morning still in Michael’s bed, which is surprising because he thought for sure the boy would've sent him home by now. Quickly, he's met with the lingering smell of pot—unsurprising—and the realization that he never called his sister to pick him up and she's probably so worried she can't see straight. He continues to feel a little guilty about hiding this from her, but he loses that train of thought when the bedroom door swings open.

Michael kicks the door shut behind him when he walks in, a glass of water and two pills in his palm. At first, Calum shakes his head, but Michael just bends down to kiss his cheek lightly before straddling his hips. The sweatpants he's wearing creep dangerously low, and Calum licks his lips subconsciously when he thinks about the potential for a round two. If a second round of hand jobs can really be declared as round two.

"Not drugs," Michael says tiredly, his voice a bit raspy. "Well, like, they _are_ , but not our kind." He winks down at the boy below him, and Calum chuckles halfheartedly. "They'll help with your head. I know you're hurting."

Calum doesn't notice until that moment—likely the power of suggestion in action—that his head _does_ in fact _kill_ right now, so he greedily takes the pills from Michael and downs them with the water.

They're silent for a few moments, Michael sitting on him and tracing his fingers along the planes of Calum's chest, and Calum just lays there looking up at him dreamily.

He's never seen Michael in this light before. Usually it's all hard angles and darkness, but now he can see the actual color of his skin—his _hair_ , God. He can see the true color of his eyes, a green so much more powerful than he ever thought, and Michael looks so soft and beautiful with the sun shining in against him instead of the moon.

"What did, um. What did you mean last night?" Calum wonders, now that his head is clearer and evidently so is Michael's.

The dark haired boy huffs out a quiet laugh, leaning down over Calum to kiss the corner of his mouth feather-light. "I meant what it sounded like. I like you, a lot, and I think we should do this...this _thing_ , exclusively."

Calum's eyes widen, but he can't stop the bubbly smile that overtakes his face quickly. "You mean, like, what—boyfriends?"

Michael giggles, nodding and placing more kisses down Calum's jaw before landing on his lips. Against them, he murmurs, "Yeah, like boyfriends."

Calum knows that he doesn't know much of anything about Michael. That he doesn't even know anything about _relationships_ , but he finds himself saying 'yes', albeit a slurred yes since Michael won't stop happily kissing him long enough for him to say it properly.

Everything feels like it's landed right where it's supposed to.

******

Mali doesn't think it's landed right where it's supposed to, not when Calum comes home a few hours later when he knows their parents will be gone smelling like the joint he and Michael shared to celebrate the boyfriend thing. She just looks at him sadly, asking him where he's been and he gives her a slow, unclear response that even _he_ loses track of.

He expects her to leave it at his half assed excuse, but apparently she's had enough, because she follows him up to his bedroom and throws the door open before it can even latch shut behind him.

They stare at each other for several long seconds, his sister glaring at him with purpose, but in the end it's Mali that has to look away.

"You've never been like this, Cal. What's making you do it _now_?" She asks him gently, sadness in her voice.

Calum just shrugs. "It's not even bad, Mali. It's just smoking together, for fun. It's not like I'm addicted to anything."

She looks back up at him, a rekindled fire in her eyes, and she shakes her head in disbelief. She strides over to him, pulling his collar down and flicking harshly over the possessive bruises Michael’s left on him over the past week and a half since the first party. "Calum, babe, I don't know who he is. But if he's turning you into a boy that I don't recognize, a boy that's not my brother, then I think you should reconsider how much he means to you." She stops touching the marks, instead grabbing Calum's hands and bringing them to her mouth to kiss his knuckles lightly, shakily. "I don't care that you're not addicted to anything, I just...how much is he _really_ worth losing?"

Mali doesn't say anything after that, just drops his hands and sniffles as she exits his room, and Calum has to sit down before he topples over. He traces over the small lip-gloss stain she left, and he realizes for the first time how much Michael has the power to overtake his life. He questions how much of that power he's willing to let Michael have.

Because right now, despite better judgment, he wants to give him all of it.

Luke comes over for the first time all summer a few days later. Calum hasn't really left his room since Mali interrogated him, hasn't even looked at his phone. The thing's probably dead by now, which would explain why he hasn't gotten any calls or texts from Michael—his boyfriend, _wow_.

It would also explain why his best friend is now bursting through his door and pouncing on him without any warning ahead of time.

Luke starts giving him light-hearted punches through the duvet, laughing wildly and drawing a similar reaction out of Calum. Eventually he manages to shove Luke off and onto the carpet long enough to catch his breath.

"What're you doing here?" Calum pants, throwing the covers off of himself and sitting up properly.

His friend stands up, smoothing out his flannel before shrugging dismissively. "You didn't answer your cell. Your sister said you were home, so I came upstairs." He pauses for a moment, eyes widening in shock as they rake over Calum's bare torso.

Calum quirks an eyebrow, giving the blonde an overly flirtatious wink. "Like what you see or something, Hemmo?" If nothing else, it succeeds in getting Luke to scoff, but that's still not a particularly positive response. Calum frowns, looking at his friend with furrowed eyebrows. "What, bro?"

"Have you...fuck, have you seen yourself recently?" Luke accuses, a slightly amused smile tugging at his lips.

Which is somewhat rude, because Calum knows he hasn't showered in a bit, but that doesn't give Luke the right to be a dick. Calum's seen him in far more repulsive states. "So what? I'll shower later, it's not like I knew his royal highness was coming over."

Luke shakes his head frantically. "No, mate, not what I mean." He leans forward, pressing a thumb to Calum’s neck— _hard_. And...oh. They're still sore. Michael must've done a real number on him. Annihilated him, even.

"Oh," Calum breathes.

Luke giggles, moving his fingers and poking at the sorest ones, the ones that must be the darkest. "Who have you been seeing, you kinky devil?"

Calum rolls his eyes, fighting the urge to blurt Michael’s name out proudly. But he knows Luke wouldn't have anything good to say, knows Luke doesn't think far enough ahead to refrain from saying the rude things. So he bites his tongue on the lovely name threatening to roll off his tongue like word vomit, and he gives his best friend a secretive smile, shoving the boy away from him so he can stand up.

"Nobody you need to worry about," Calum fires back, and Luke howls with laughter, following the brunette out of the bedroom chanting vulgar things about Calum's sex life that he wishes his sister wasn't around to hear.

******

It doesn't come up again until much later that night. They've staked claim on the living room, the space a hurricane of blankets and video game controllers and pizza boxes. FIFA has been on pause for so long while they were perusing Calum's laptop for some Blink covers to try out that it's probably burned itself into the television screen, but neither of them seems to mind. They just open another box of Hawaiian, shouting Mali out of the room when she passes through for her wallet.

They're leaning against the couch, heads tilted back, when Calum decides in his post-dinner contentedness that he could probably get Luke’s approval if he goes about asking the right way.

He swallows dryly before he asks, "What do you know about Michael Clifford?"

He doesn't know what he's expecting, but Luke shaking with laughter isn't really it. Calum frowns slightly, rolling his head to the side to watch his friend through sleepy eyes as he shakes his head.

"What in the hell would make you ask about him?" Luke asks, reaching forward for his water bottle. "He's an absolute ass."

Calum disagrees, but he doesn't add his opinion. Instead, he nods slowly, turning his head back up so he can stare blankly at the ceiling. He wonders what Michael's doing right now.

"He's always high, mate. Heard he's the guy to go through if you want to get your hands on some serious shit. I think he was at the party we went to with Ash two weeks back." Luke’s not really talking _to_ Calum anymore, just _at_ him. Not that Calum minds, really, because then he doesn't have to respond, and he's not sure he could say anything negative about Michael right now even if he tried.

Calum hums dismissively, pushing away from the couch and grabbing another slice of pizza. He's not even hungry; it's just something to occupy himself so he doesn't say something dumb like how much he loves Michael’s mouth marking him up so much that everyone notices—Mali, now Luke, and even his parents, who gave him indecipherable looks at the table the other day. It makes him practically vibrate, knowing Michael's done it and that he can feel it for _days_.

"Speaking of Ash," Luke brightens up, sunshine-y smile spreading across his face as he talks about his not-quite-official boyfriend. "He told me that Michael’s planning on skipping town with a few of his druggie friends. That they're gonna rent some apartment and deal out of it for bigger bucks than they make now. They all graduated this year, so they'll probably do it."

And that, well. That's something Calum _didn’t_ know. He panics, heart thumping so loudly he wouldn't be surprised if Luke notices his change in heart rate.

Michael never mentioned leaving. Michael never really mentioned _anything_ , not more than how hot he thought Calum was or how much he liked this new drug they tried. So Calum guesses he can't really be mad or upset at the boy, because they haven't known each other long enough to talk about the future and everything that comes with it. Which is maybe a sign that they're moving way too fast, but Calum can't really bring himself to care when he notices Luke's eyes trailing over the purple splotches on his collarbone.

"Calum," Luke says solemnly, and when the brunette meets his eyes, he notices the bright baby blue irises are darkened with sadness. "It's Michael, isn't it?"

Calum bites his lip, shrugging, but it's all the confirmation Luke needs, because the blonde sighs, grabbing the back of his neck and bringing their foreheads together.

"Be careful, Cal," Luke whispers lowly, and Calum wonders why everyone seems to think he needs to be. Michael doesn't seem particularly dangerous.

******

When he turns his phone back on, he sees the missed calls from Luke. He's not surprised to find nothing from Michael.

He sits and stares at Michaels contact in his phone for hours, thinking about sending a text or making a call, but he can't bring himself to press a single button.

The first time he sees Michael after they become official boyfriends is when the boy asks Calum over to his house for dinner one night a week later. He gets the invitation around 3pm on a Wednesday, a particularly random day and time for a dinner date, but he accepts without consulting his parents and opts to give them the old "I told you, Luke invited me over. Don't you ever listen?" to which his sister will turn her gaze down to her food and pretend she doesn't know what he's really up to. Which he'll pretend doesn't make his stomach flip with guilt.

Apparently, though, "dinner" is actually some sort of code for "I got my hands on some ecstasy, come try it with me", because when Calum shows up to Michael's house that night, the dark haired boy is pulling him into the infamous bathroom and producing a bag of pills that look a lot like candy.

"Is there not food, then?" Calum asks, going for disappointed, but his tone isn't very convincing since he's holding out his hand for Michael to set one of the pills in his open palm anyway. While he's watching Michael fumble with his own pill, he notices an X tattoo on the boy's finger for the first time, and he smiles softly at the small mark. It’s definitely new. Maybe he has /more/. Calum wouldn't mind searching every inch of his body for them.

Michael chuckles. "Nah. We can order take out if you really want to eat after this."

His tone is suggestive, like there's no way Calum will be able to think about food afterwards, but it still doesn't turn him off to the idea of taking the pill for Michael.

"What about your parents?" Calum inquires nervously.

Michael scoffs. "Please, babe. You think I'd have you over if they were home?" He smirks, tilting Calum's head up with his thumb before ghosting their lips together. "Don't think they need to hear what kind of things we get up to, do you? Your pretty little sounds are just for me, aren't they?"

Calum loses his ability to breathe a little bit right then, mouth dropping open and eyes glazed wide as he nods blankly. "Yeah, yeah. For you."

Michael beams proudly, nodding down to Calum's hand—to the pill in it, more specifically—before kissing his cheek and panting into the skin. "Such a good boy for me, aren't you?"

Calum whines low in his throat, flexing up on his toes to try and bring Michaels lips to his neck, to freshen the bruises that are fading, but the dark haired boy evades him effortlessly.

Michael hums approvingly, then steps back and grabs a glass of water he must've filled at some point before Calum arrived. He places one of the pills on his tongue, and his words are slightly jumbled when he speaks next, as he's working to hold the thing in place on the muscle. "You'll get me after. Gonna feel so much better like that."

He doesn't bother mentioning that he thinks it'd be good with Michael regardless, because he knows he's going to take the pill for his boy no matter what, and it's just a waste of his breath.

Michael rolls his hand as if to say 'go on, then', so Calum pops the pill in his mouth and meets Michael's eyes when it hits his tongue. The taste is definitely unsavory, and he'd rather never endure it again, but he holds it there for a few seconds before the dark haired boy nods for him to swallow it.

He doesn't feel any different, not like the instantaneous high of everything else they've done together. Frowning, he looks up at his boyfriend, and Michael's finishing up swallowing his own pill.

"How long ‘til it kicks in?" Calum asks him, reaching for the glass of water Michael hands him and taking a long sip.

The dark haired boy chugs some back afterwards, shrugging. "Half an hour, I think. We can scrounge for food or something, if you want."

Calum nods at that, sliding past Michael on the way out of the bathroom before he realizes he doesn't know where the kitchen is in this house. Michael just pushes back in front of him to lead the way, offering Calum a teasing wink as he does so.

******

It doesn't kick in until almost an hour later, but when it finally does, it crashes into him like a freight train.

He's just looking at Michael—who's sitting next to him on the floor of Michael's room, a plate of pizza rolls between them—when he feels it. A sense of euphoria overtakes him, and he feels the oddest sensation that for once he's got nothing to worry about in the world. When he thinks about that awkward thing he said at dinner last week, he doesn't want to maim himself, he just...doesn't want for anything.

Eventually, Michael looks back, and he's not sure if it’s seconds or hours after Calum started watching him. But as soon as Michael's emerald eyes bore into his own, he feels a comforting fondness and safety that he's pretty sure he's never felt. Michael is great, he decides. Michael is _perfect_. He could kiss him.

It only takes a minute before he pieces together that he 100% has the right to kiss Michael, because the boy is his _boyfriend_. So he leans forward haphazardly, knee bumping the plate and shaking the tiny pizza rolls, brushing his nose against Michael's.

"Eskimo kiss," Calum giggles, and he rubs his nose a little harder, before Michael surges forward, sending Calum flailing down onto his back. Michael uses his hands to press down on the inside of the brunette's thighs, successfully spreading his legs apart. He settles between them, bending down to drag his open mouth across Calum's neck and clothed chest, which shouldn't feel as good as it does, Calum's pretty sure. But no matter, he whines in the back of his throat and arches up for it eagerly.

"I like these kisses better," Michael retorts, surprising Calum when he darts his head back up and seals their lips together. And yeah, Calum likes these better, too, especially when Michael slips his tongue into his mouth and practically fucking _explores_ it, dragging the muscle across his teeth and tongue and cheeks.

When Michael—finally—decides to bring his kisses lower, sucking harshly into his neck and bringing back Calum's beloved lovebites (lustbites, maybe, since they're not in love), Calum whispers, "French kisses."

Michael stops moving, and Calum pouts, rolling his hips up into Michael's like a frustrated child that has to convulse his whole body to prove a point. His point, in this case, is to _not stop marking him up, damn it._ He can't ignore the sudden spark that shoots through his belly at the feeling, because he's harder than he's probably ever been (so sue him, it would take a man much stronger than Calum not to fatten up under the mouth of a determined Michael Clifford).

But all Michael does is draw back, smirking down at Calum before he cracks out: "Ever had an Australian kiss? It's like French kissing, but _down under_."

Calum stops breathing for a second, before a laugh punches its way out of his chest and he's shaking with giggles underneath his boy. Michael looks way too proud of himself, a smug smile on his face that Calum immediately decides to kiss away because it pisses him off so much. He hates Michael.

(He doesn't hate Michael. Michael is lovely.)

"You should, like, maybe show me. I've never had an Australian kiss before." Calum jokes back. Probably he's had an Australian kiss, since he kisses Michael regularly and they're both from Sydney, but now isn't the time for technicalities. Now is the time for potential blow jobs from hot boys with black and blue hair.

Surprisingly, Michael doesn't even pretend it's just a sarcastic reply. He just nods, kissing a tender spot on Calum's neck that must already be bruising before he shimmies down Calum's body. He leans back on his ankles momentarily to undo Calum's jeans, which the brunette tilts his hips up to aid in removing along with his briefs, but then Michael’s resettling on his stomach between Calum's bare thighs, face even with his cock, which is pressed up against his stomach that's still covered by his shirt.

Naked from the waist down, he thinks he should feel a little self conscious, because even though Michael has jerked him to orgasm before, he hadn’t been exposed like this. But it doesn't feel all that weird, just sort of exhilarating, another thing that's surprising to him. He's never been so open about sexuality, has kept it safe in a little box as he 'waited for the right person'. In this moment, though, Michael seems like the _perfect_ person.

The first slide of his tongue is unexpected, and Calum’s mouth falls open on a broken sound. His hands slide up above his head, settling his wrists over each other and holding them there like he imagines Michael would. He's almost scared to move them, feels like he'd be less of a good boy. God, he wants to be good for Michael.

Michael wraps his mouth around the head, then, hollowing out his cheeks and swallowing him down like he was fucking born to do it, like he can't live without Calum's cock—like he needs it. Which is an incredibly sexy idea, and Calum puffs out stifled grunts that sound more like pants with the effort he's making to keep relatively quiet.

The boy between his legs settles up onto his knees, back bowed beautifully to suck him down harder, tighter, and at a better angle. Calum feels the effects immediately, groaning out loudly for the first time when Michael simultaneously swirls his tongue and rakes his nails down Calum's thighs. Michael gives him a rewarding smack to the scratched skin for letting him do so, which makes Calum arch his back and close his eyes, whimpering at the painful sensation.

"Shit, Mikey, you were fuckin' made for this," Calum whispers, and Michael chuckles around him, which only brings him closer to the edge. He's shaking with it, jerking his legs under the weight of Michael's hands and encouraging him to resume the assault on them. He doesn't know why, but he wants them raw and burning by the time Michael's done with him, wants to feel the nails biting in all the right places when he comes.

He almost cries when Michael pulls off, far enough away to pretty much guarantee his mouth isn't going to be around him again any time soon. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you liked that a bit too much." He winks up at Calum, delivering a harsh slap to his right thigh, and Calum emits a shaky moan, squeezing his eyes shut and squirming away from the singe even though he wants to feel it again so badly. "Turn around."

Calum doesn't even really hesitate to think about what that could mean—he just obeys without comment, rolling over onto his stomach and whimpering when his abused skin hits the rough carpet of Michael's bedroom. He debates pushing up onto his knees to escape it, but he can't bring himself to do that. Likes it too much. Loves it, even. Fuck, he has to rut against the ground to deal with how much he loves it.

"Jesus, you're so responsive. So good for me," Michael muses, and then Calum feels a hand tracing from his shoulder blade down to the curve of his ass. He pushes back into the touch, practically gagging for it rougher, but Michael doesn't give him that. Just spreads his cheeks apart, exposing his hole, and Calum shudders at all the possibilities Michael could surprise him with right now. "Shit. Want to fuck you so badly."

Calum doesn't give him a yes or no, just squirms a bit, but he doesn't think Michael was waiting for an answer anyway, since he shoots up and across the room, rummaging through a drawer in his nightstand.

When he returns, all Calum hears is the sound of something uncapping, and his heart lurches, because _this is it_ , he's going to lose his actual virginity face down on the floor of a boy's bedroom high on ecstasy. Calum Hood is, truly, living the life.

He jerks away when he feels what has to be Michael's finger, all lubed up and pressing at his hole, but he relaxes when Michael rests his dry hand soothingly on his hip. "Relax, babe," Michael coos. "You're doing so well for me. Let me have some more of your pretty moans, yeah?"

Calum groans into the carpet at that, and Michael pats his hip in approval, so he keeps making the noises, even when Michael slips the finger all the way in. It's uncomfortable, so he shifts his legs further apart, exposing himself wider and hoping it'll make the whole process easier. Michael hums happily, so he's guessing it succeeded.

He's only barely accustomed to the first one when Michael starts working in a second. Calum winces, clawing at the carpet and breathing out tightly. "Slow down," Calum hisses at him, but Michael either doesn't hear him or ignores him altogether, because already he starts scissoring the fingers and pressing the tip of another to Calum's rim.

Calum bites his lip as Michael pulls out almost all the way, then renters with three fingers, whimpering. He can't tell if it's in pain or pleasure, but if he grinds down onto this cock it's more bearable, so he continues on rocking forward into the ground and back on Michael's hand, working himself open in a rhythm. He's pretty sure from all the porn he's wanked to that it has to feel so much better than this. Not that he thinks Michael would purposely put him through something horrific for his first time, but...the whole thing feels less than guttural-moan-worthy.

Michael removes his fingers then, and Calum hears him fumbling with his belt before the unmistakable sound of a wrapper being torn fills the room.

 _This is really it_.

He doesn't even get a chance to prepare himself before Michael's pushing in, his cock already so much wider even though Calum's been stretched. He bites down on his knuckles, hand closed in a tight fist, squeezing his eyes shut as he whimpers out shakily. Michael doesn't stop pushing in, though, which Calum's not sure if he's thankful for or not, but at least it eliminates the possibility of him backing out before Michael's officially taken his virginity. They've made it this far; he should at least focus on coming now.

Michael moans softly as soon as he bottoms out, planting his hands on Calum's waist and pinching him softly. The brunette rolls his hips back to confirm that he is, in fact, okay, but even that tiny movement makes him hiss in pain. Thankfully, Michael holds off, shushing him with gentle words of encouragement and staying completely still, letting Calum adjust.

He's still not used to it nearly a full minute later, but he knows it's not going to get any more bearable unless Michael just starts giving it to him, so that's what he encourages. He nods enthusiastically, pushing his hips up, and Michael makes a pained noise before pulling back and thrusting in slowly.

Now, Calum can kind of see the appeal. It's not life-changing, getting fucked, but it helps that Michael's being so patient with him. Makes it all feel just a _little_ bit better.

It goes from a better feeling to best feeling when Michael brushes up against something completely new to Calum, something he supposes he always knew was there but was never game enough to experiment with. Calum groans deep in his throat when Michael hits it again, grinding back on the dark haired boy desperately as tiny _please_ ’s and _right there, fuck_ ’s punch their way out of his chest.

"You look so good, Cal," Michael murmurs into the relative quietness of the bedroom. "Feel even better, all tight around me and squeezing like you need it. Is that it? Need my cock in you?"

Calum gasps sharply, eyebrows furrowed as he slides a hand between himself and the floor, getting a hand around his own cock and starting to work himself quickly. "Keep going," he pleads.

Michael doubles his efforts, pressing so hard on Calum's waist it'll probably start hurting soon, but Calum doesn't mind. Not when Michael takes one of them away to smack his ass harder than he'd slapped his thighs. Calum whimpers, feeling tears prickling at his eyes, but he only jerks his cock faster, doesn't miss the blurt of precome that dribbles out at the contact.

"God, you want it so bad. Want me to hit you some more? Make you come with your ass all red for me?" Michael leans down over him, murmuring the words into the cotton of Calum’s shirt stretched tight over his back—right over his spine—and he can't spank Calum properly from this angle, but it doesn't really matter so much, because Calum is shaking violently and biting his lip when he moans and comes so hard he practically blacks out. Michael just urges him through it, thrusting in roughly a few more times before he comes, too, spilling into the condom and panting wetly onto Calum's spine.

He has enough foresight to catch it all in his hand when he shoots his load, sparing himself the humiliation of dirtying up Michael's carpet. The last thing he'd need would be to make a fool of himself the second after he had sex for the very first time.

So, the only unfortunate part of that plan is now he's got a handful of his own come, making it somewhat awkward when Michael pulls out and heads for the wastebasket beside his bed to dispose of the condom. In the end, he opts for pushing himself up off the ground and heading into the bathroom, washing his hands in the sink and ridding himself of the mess quickly.

When he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, it's almost enough to get him ready for a round two. His hair is ruffled to high heaven, eyes glazed with pleasure and (actual) ecstasy, lips kiss swollen and entirety of his thighs red with rug burn. Without even looking he knows that underneath his shirt, the skin will be just as raw. He wants it to hurt so badly tomorrow he can't even _walk_ without people knowing what he's gotten up to. Even if the person that finds him out is Mali, he thinks it'll still be enough to send him running to the shower for a furious wank, just getting noticed like that.

God, he's so outrageous. He has sex _one time_ and suddenly he's some sort of exhibitionist.

Calum exits the bathroom after he tames his hair just a bit, finding the plate of pizza rolls abandoned on the floor and Michael curling up—still naked—into his bed. He waves lazily for Calum to join him, and the brunette smiles gently before eagerly sliding under the covers.

It's unlike him, so out of place, but it's actually _Michael_ who slithers up close to him and slides his arms around Calum's midsection. He presses light, closed-mouth kisses to Calum's neck, definitely not enough to leave marks, but this time they're to reassure.

Calum still likes them a lot.

Gradually, he brings his caresses lower, rubbing gentle circles into the curve of Calum's ass, murmuring a "Sorry if it was too much."

Calum just shakes his head, resting his palm over Michael's wrist and smiling fondly. "Don't be sorry. I loved it."

Michael beams proudly, giving Calum a lazy wink before he sighs deeply and closes his eyes. He's obviously sleepy, and when he yawns it's infectious, and Calum realizes how tired he's become in this moment. So he just closes his eyes right along with Michael, curling up into his chest and breathing him in deep.

******

It's dark outside when Calum wakes up. At first, he's unsure what's woken him, since he's pretty exhausted and could've easily slept for another several hours in the comfort of Michael's bed.

But then he sees said boyfriend standing across the room, turning and cursing under his breath when he sees Calum's awake. He's got his hands on his window—must've just slid it open—and Calum registers that the creaking of it was what shot him out of a dead sleep.

"I’m gonna have a smoke. Didn't want to set off the alarm," Michael clarifies, voice rough and gravelly like Calum imagines his own might be if he attempted speaking right now. Calum just waves him off, smiling, and Michael looks at the floor around him before reaching down and pulling his previously discarded jeans back on.

He watches from his limp position on the bed as Michael fastens the button on his jeans, his porcelain skin glowing slightly when the light from the moon shines in through the window and glints against it.

"Where are you going?" Calum murmurs tiredly.

Michael doesn't even look at him, just takes a rolled cigarette and lighter from the back pocket of his jeans. While he lights it, he wanders back over to the bed, sitting cross legged on top of the comforter while Calum lies beneath it.

"Anywhere, if you go with me." Michael replies, even though he knows Calum can't. Can't, because he's still got school, because he's got soccer, because.

"Michael?" Calum asks, and he's not surprised to find that his voice is definitely scratchy. "Is it, y’know...true? About you skipping town to deal somewhere else?"

The pale boy looks taken aback, but not like he's angry. Just more surprised than anything. He removes the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling the smoke slowly before he inquires, "Who told you I was gonna skip?"

It doesn't really answer his question at all, so Calum frowns. Michael notices, and he lies down on his side so that they're face to face. Equals.

"Doesn't matter who. I was just wondering if that was something you wanted to do. It seems like you would, so I just. Sorry." He feels pretty embarrassed, for some reason, so he takes to tracing circles along the duvet, avoiding his boyfriend's eyes.

Michael drags the backs of his fingers down Calum's cheek, and Calum can feel the soft heat of the cigarette radiating on his skin where Michael must be holding it in the same hand. "Cal, babe, people are going to say shit about me that's not always true. You've got to learn to see the bullshit, if this is going to work out. You can't trust everyone."

Calum narrows his eyes, turning his head away from Michael's touch, which causes the dark haired boy to quirk an eyebrow and bring the cigarette up to his mouth for a long drag. "I don’t trust e _veryone_ ," Calum pouts, defiant. Nonetheless, he quietly adds, "But fine, I'll rephrase. Dearest Michael, what are your plans now that you've graduated?"

Michael chuckles, puffs of smoke coming out his nose as he does so. He offers the cigarette to Calum, who takes it between his fingers and flutters his mouth over it experimentally. It tastes utterly awful, but he works himself through it while he sucks some in. Worse than bud, for sure, but it still works in mellowing him out.

"I never plan, Hood." Is Michael's snarky response, and Calum rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.

"Don't be like that. Just be straight with me, are you intending to dip out of Sydney at any given time? Were you even planning to warn me before you did?" Calum bites. He knows it's pretty hostile, especially for him, but he thinks Michael deserves it after everything they've done together up to this point. They might not be _in_ anything, but they're boyfriends, so that has to count for something.

Michael snatches the cigarette back, reaching behind himself and smashing it out in an ashtray. "Of course I'd tell you," Michael starts. "But I'm not planning on leaving unless it gets too bad for me here."

And that, that catches Calum off guard, because he never expected that maybe his reasons for leaving could be non-drug related. It makes him feel low and nauseous, like he's been judging a book by its cover—a book that he should never judge.

"Bad how?" Calum asks.

Michael shrugs, his eyes distant, but he still says: "My parents don't even s _ee_ me anymore, because I guess nobody wants the stoner for a child. I'd rather completely start over than live a lifetime of being looked right through."

Calum feels like sinking into the mattress, maybe even into the center of the earth—that's how heavy his heart has just become. "Mike, I didn't mean to—"

"You're my good thing right now. I'm staying, for you." Michael tells him.

It's a lot to handle, a lot of pressure being placed on his shoulders with those simple sentences. They're saying that so long as Calum's with him, Michael won't jump in his car and ditch everything. He doesn't even know Michael well enough to know if him getting away would be better—doesn't know if Michael's life would improve if he left this town forever.

But still, he accepts the responsibility in the form of kissing Michael's forehead gently, telling him silently that Michael's his good thing, too, even if nobody else thinks so.

They're each other's good thing.

Roofs are dangerous, and Calum is learning that now. For the first time in all his seventeen years of life, he's sneaking out of his bedroom window and onto the brickwork awning, where Michael's already waiting for him. His car is parked across the street, so he obviously drove all the way here at two in the morning just to smoke a blunt. He probably climbed up the arch in Calum's mum's garden to get up this high, if the several crushed roses on it are anything to go by (Calum doesn't bother pointing them out, though).

He only almost slips three times before he successfully pulls himself through the window and seats himself next to Michael. It's warm, but being so pitch black out it’s much cooler than Sydney is during the afternoon. There's a soft breeze blowing, and Calum thinks if he focuses hard enough he could actually _smell_ summer on it; the beach, the future, the sunshine, all of it.

All he smells a few seconds later, though, is weed, and he crinkles his nose up slightly. Michael hits it first, inhaling deep and closing his eyes before passing the joint to Calum without even opening them back up. He looks totally at peace, and Calum hurriedly places the blunt between his lips, eager to follow Michael into that mellow world.

He takes a few short puffs, swallowing the smoke down and holding his breath to smother it in his lungs, just the way Michael taught him how. Doing it that way makes his head go fuzzy all the more quickly, makes him exhausted but acutely aware of his surroundings all at the same time.

Michael must take the joint from him at some point, because when he slowly drags his eyes down to his hand, it's not there, and there's a pile of ash contrasting against the red brick of the roof. Calum makes a protesting noise, but Michael just shushes him, reaching up to pet his hair fondly before laying flat on his back.

Calum takes to following his lead relatively immediately, falling back into the same comfortable position and looking up at the sky. Mostly it's all black, with the occasional star twinkling, or maybe that's just his impaired brain making stuff up because it'd be prettier than just blackness.

At the voice in his head's mention of prettier, Calum rolls his neck to look at Michael beside him, taking in his profile: the sharpness of his jaw, the protruding Adam's apple, the soft curve of his cheeks, the rounded nose. Calum wants to kiss all of those things. Twice.

Michael's way too pretty to be with Calum. He's got dark features and scruff and a body that could kill, so Calum really doesn't know why he'd settle for the too-thin soccer player with no meat on his arms and eyebrows too big for his face that’s a full year younger. Michael’s too far ahead of Calum, on top of all that. He's had tons of sex, he's already eighteen, he deals and _does_ drugs and, well, Calum's not totally clear on what he's got to offer a guy like that.

"Mike," Calum says slowly, dragging out emphasis on the vowels unintentionally. "Why are we together?"

He doesn't mean to ask it, at least not consciously. But he does, and Michael doesn't react as poorly as Calum thought he might. He just shrugs, finally opening his eyes after they'd slid shut some minutes ago.

"I don't know, you're fun. I like being with you." Michael says it honestly, like he means it, and Calum believes he might. He has fun with Michael, too, and he definitely likes being with him.

But they've never discussed where they were going with this, how long it's supposed to last or what kind of expectations they both have in the future. So Calum steels himself for a few seconds before he bravely asks, "Yeah, but could you ever love me?"

And apparently, Michael's not expecting that, because he turns his head to stare at Calum so quickly he's worried Michael might get whiplash. His emerald eyes are boring into Calum's own, and the brunette almost turns away from it in fear. But it's Michael, and he doesn't think he needs to be scared, even if he wants to be.

Michael doesn't say anything for several seconds, just narrows his eyes slightly as the irises scan over Calum's face, taking in every detail. His mouth is set in a heavy frown, and Calum can practically hear the gears whirring in his brain, but finally, Michael opens his mouth gently to speak.

"No. I'm sorry, but no, I don't think so."

Calum’s heart falls unexpectedly, an ache so suddenly overtaking him that he's not sure what to do with it. It's not as if he's in love with Michael or anything, but the possibility that they ever _could_ love each other being taken away from him is like having a pathway in his future eliminated. He's never going to know how life would turn out if he stayed with Michael forever. He can't stay with a boy that won't ever care enough.

He can stay with him for now, though, can't he?

"It's okay, me either," Calum recovers, breaking through the tension that had settled over them.

Michael almost sounds disappointed when he asks, "Why not?"

He's not really expecting Michael to inquire further, so he bites his lip, looking down at his thumbs in fake interest. Michael probably notices, maybe knows he's lying, or knows that Calum could definitely see himself falling for Michael at some point. Maybe that grosses him out. Maybe that makes him rethink his initial response (unlikely).

"Just, uh. We're different people, y’know? It would never work out if we weren't like this, right?" He’s not even sure what he means, or if Michael agrees, but he says it anyway.

Michael nods slowly. "Right. The day I fall in love with you is the day pigs fly." He sounds like he's joking, and Calum smiles despite the heaviness in his heart.

"Yeah," he laughs humorlessly. "Or the day we break it off."

It's a bit like going from 0 to 100, that statement, but he throws it out there anyway because it can't hurt at this point. Everyone's egos are already damaged.

Still, Calum doesn't miss the hurt in Michael's voice when he grits out, "Yep. That, too."

Michael excuses himself about twenty minutes later, slinking back down the arch and heading over to his car. Calum watches from his window as he drives off, knowing he should've taken Michael's keys and made him stay the night, but the thought of Mali catching Michael in the house terrifies him just enough to hold his tongue.

(It doesn't end up mattering, though. Mali walks into his room the next day to throw a handful of stomped-on roses from the arch down on his bed and tells him to clean up after himself better the next time his plaything comes over.)

If someone told Calum Hood back when he applied last month that he'd actually get accepted to University of Melbourne, he'd have laughed in their face.

So when his mum, dad, and sister all come tearing into his room at fuck o'clock in the morning on a Tuesday, he's just as confused by their outbursts and squealing as he is by the distinguishable seal on the envelope.

 _He did it_.

His mouth drops open in shock as his mum shoves at his shoulders, telling him to "open it already, Cal!" Once he's cleared his head, he gets up from his bed, standing in the middle of the room with his family huddled closely around him.

He's breathing shallowly when he breaks the seal, tugging the official looking paper out of the envelope, and he about loses his mind when he reads the first line: _Congratulations, Calum Thomas Hood._

His mother actually cries when he reads it out loud, starts wiping at her eyes as his father wraps an arm around her and claps a hand to Calum's shoulder proudly. Mali just squeals, throwing herself forward and latching on to Calum for dear life.

"We're gonna both be Boars!" She cheers, swaying from side to side and dragging Calum with her, laughing all the way as he hugs her back firmly.

She clasps her hands in his hair, holding him tight to her, and he lets himself get caught up in it. No one’s held him like this, so urgently, in a long time, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss it. Not even Michael touches him this way—and fuck, _Michael._

Melbourne's a long way from Sydney, a 9 hour drive at least. He already knows Michael won't like that, especially not after everything they talked about with Calum being his last good thing, the thing keeping him here. The only silver lining is that it's another year before he's going off to Uni, so he could probably still get Michael to stick around for that long. Maybe he won't even have to tell Michael he got accepted.

Which is absolute bullshit, of course, he _has_ to tell Michael. Besides, as far as Calum knows, the boy's not totally heartless. Maybe he'll actually be proud of Calum. Maybe he'll congratulate him and hold him like Mali's doing, stroking his hair and telling him how unbelievably joyful she is that they both got into the same school.

So, after his family takes him out for a celebratory dinner that evening, he spills out some lie about heading over to Luke’s to share the good news. His mum and dad are so buzzed with excitement they don't even bother to mention he could easily _call_ the blonde boy to tell him, they just send him off with firm hugs (his father) and lipstick stained kisses (his mother). Even Mali's in such a good mood that she doesn't call him out on the lateness of the hour, just smiles softly and taps her neck as a reminder not to come back covered in hickeys that might make his parents question the platonic relationship he has with Luke, since she knows Calum's definitely not going to see Luke.

He catches the city bus, which drops him about a mile from Michael's actual house since it's so isolated. The walk is sort of nerve-wracking, making his stomach churn, and the fire burning in his pocket from the folded up acceptance letter only worsens his state.

When he knocks on the door, he's surprised to see someone that's _not_ Michael opening it. A woman about the same age as his mother is standing there, a bowl of what looks to be cookie dough on her hip, blonde hair tied messy back into a bun. She bears such a striking resemblance to Michael that he's positive this woman is his mother.

That's when Calum realizes he didn't text Michael to ask if he was free.

He's never met Michael's parents, and he's pretty sure there's a reason for it. Michael either hasn't come out to them (which Calum sort of doubts), or he doesn't intend to keep Calum around long enough to bother (much more probable).

So when Michael's mother turns into the house and calls for him, Calum almost turns and sprints back to the bus stop. But before he can, she's waving him into the foyer and walking back into the kitchen.

A few seconds later, Michael enters the room grumpily, clad in only track pants that make Calum's mouth water when he sees how low they're riding. Only, it quickly dries up when Michael’s eyes land on him, anger and horror laced throughout them.

The older boy lunges forward, grasping tight onto Calum’s wrist and yanking him upstairs. It hurts a little, but Calum doesn't mind, just goes and hopes that maybe Michael won't give him too much of an earful.

He's not so lucky.

"Calum, what the _fuck_ are you doing here?" Michael hisses, shutting his bedroom door and locking it quickly. He's breathing hard, but it's not from running up the stairs. It's from how absolutely _pissed_ he is at Calum, and that makes the brunette too nervous to speak in full sentences.

"I..." He trails off, looking down at his feet.

Michael sighs. "Did she ask how we knew each other?" He sounds worried, and Calum reevaluates his earlier conclusion. Maybe Michael _hasn’t_ come out to his folks.

"No. She didn't even say anything to me, Mike, I promise." Calum says quickly, eyes wide as he attempts to reassure him. "I didn't know she'd be home, I wouldn't have—"

Michael rolls his eyes. "Then why _did_ you come over? I didn't invite you."

Calum frowns, but otherwise chooses to ignore the biting tone to those words. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and retrieves the letter, unfolding it and handing it to Michael. "Needed to tell you about this."

The dark haired boy doesn't open it, just stares blankly at the return address with fingers gripping the edges tight enough to crinkle the paper. Calum doesn't reprimand him for it, though, just lets him work through it on his own.

"Is this...?" He asks, and Calum hums confirmation.

"Acceptance letter. Melbourne," Calum tells him, and Michael sucks in a sharp breath.

It seems like Michael's actually going to say something positive for a moment, but of course nothing gold can stay. The older boy hands the paper back without even reading it, simply shrugging and muttering: "So what?"

That gets Calum's blood boiling. “ _So what_? I worked hard for this, what do you mean, _so what_?” He snaps, tearing the letter away from Michael's hands, angry that the boy's even touched it at this point.

Michael just crosses his arms, makes himself broader and bigger. He's never intimidated Calum, not _really_ , but in this moment Calum thinks Michael's the scariest person he's ever seen.

"You're just gonna up and leave me, is that it?" The boy snarls, leaning down so their faces are inches apart. Calum feels even smaller. "Think it works like that?"

And, really, Calum's not a child, so he won't be spoken to like one. "Come on, Mike. You're skipping town anyway, and I'm not even going to Uni for another year. What does it matter?"

Michael must not like that response, because he actually makes a low noise in his throat, one that almost sounds like a growl. Which, in ordinary circumstances, would be ridiculous. But now, with tension so thick it could be cut with a knife surrounding them, it's as demeaning as Michael must intend for it to be.

"I was only going to leave Sydney if you bailed on me. Which, apparently, is no big deal for you. Like I don't even mean a _fucking thing_ ," Michael sneers, and Calum almost laughs, but he doesn't have it in him.

"Really? Michael, you told me yourself you'd never love me. Why would I stick around for that? For someone to drag me around like I mean something when they _have_ to know I have it in me to fall for them. For god's sake, you can't have your cake and eat it, too." He can feel hot tears prickling at his eyes, and when he looks up into Michael's, he can see crystalline droplets already sticking to his thick eyelashes.

"Shut _up_ , Calum," Michael whispers, weak and raspy.

He gets a second wind—can't stop now that he's started. "Oh, no, because you also want your _ice cream_ , and the _cookies_ —”

"You don't know what it's like," Michael says, turning away and sulking over to the bed. Calum's never seen him look so small, and even though he knows he's not in the wrong here (knows he's actually _completely_ right), he feels low and dirty, like he's kicked a wounded puppy. "I can't fucking lose you. You can't leave me yet, I can't handle that, Cal, not from you."

Calum's walking over to him before Michael's even finished whimpering through his words. _You can't leave me yet_ is ringing loudly in his ears as he sits down behind Michael, as he lets the boy fall back against his chest and relax into his touch.

Calum knows those words are toxic, _knows_ that depending on someone so wholly and begging them to never leave you is _so_ unhealthy, but he just frowns and brushes his fingers through Michael's black fringe, murmuring promises of forever that are much more empty than he means for them to be.

******

He fights tears the whole way home, shaking off several strangers on the bus that ask him if he's okay. He doesn't want to confide in them. Doesn't want to confide in anyone, really, but when he starts trudging up the stairs to his bedroom and passes his sister's door, he finds himself knocking on it before he can stop himself.

Mali answers in her pajamas, hair in a bun and one headphone in from where she must've been preparing to sleep. It's late; he's surprised she's still awake.

As soon as their eyes lock, Calum whimpers, and she throws the door open, slinging an arm around his shoulder and pulling him in the room. She kicks the door shut, falling down onto her bed and letting Calum join. He's crying now, for the first time since his chest started really aching back at Michael's, and she's just petting his back as he lets it out into her pillow.

"I can't hold him up, Mali. Not the way he wants me to." He barely gets it out, but it makes him feel so much lighter to confess it to her. It doesn't seem as much like losing a battle of pride as it does like a weight being lifted off his shoulders, and she doesn't even say I told you so.

She just tsks, scratching her manicured nails lightly through his hair, something he's always loved since he was little. Their mother used to do it for them, and apparently he never grew out of the comforting gesture.

"I know, Cal." She tells him. "There's nothing I can do, so you just have to remember that this boy, he's the first person you've ever loved. And he's going to shape the way you feel about everyone from here on out, so just understand that the further invested in him you get, the harder it's going to be to realize when it's time to let go."

He nods slowly, smiling gently up at her, and she just leans down, hugging him close to her. He doesn't bother trying to tell her that he doesn't love Michael, because he knows she won't believe him. Because he knows if he doesn't 100% love Michael by now, it's only a matter of time before he does.

"I'm proud of you, always," she says. "I love you, little brother."

Calum's heart warms, and he whispers back, "Love you."

Mali heads off to university two weeks later, and both his parents are escorting her on the drive to Melbourne. Which leaves Calum all alone in the house for three days, and he has no idea what to do with himself for that time.

He calls Luke, but he's predictably busy with Ashton. So Calum's forced to sit in silence on the kitchen floor, locking and unlocking his phone repeatedly on Michael's contact info. They haven't spoken since the argument, not since he spent hours holding the older boy and telling him that he's not going to leave. That they've got forever, and forever is fine.

But it's not fine, because Michael hasn't apologized, and probably never will, but Calum doesn't hold it against him.

In spite of it all, three full days of Michael staying at his house could do them a lot of good, he thinks. That, or it could do a lot of damage, with no happy medium.

He calls Michael before he can psych himself out, and Michael agrees almost instantly. His heart beats hard at that, at the fact Michael's so eager to see him, but he boils the boy's excitement down to lust and three days of unmonitored behavior.

As soon as he hears the '67 Shelby rumbling to a stop outside, Calum's opening the front door, watching as Michael pulls a duffel bag out of the passenger seat and locks the car. The dark haired boy starts up the sidewalk then, and Calum's breathing gets shallow the closer he gets. He looks sort of rough, with a couple days' buildup of facial hair and tired eyes like he's either just taken something or he hasn't slept in days, or both. It shouldn't be so attractive to Calum, but it _is_ , and so when Michael reaches the doorway, Calum's on him like white on rice.

They shut the heavy door quickly, Michael dropping his bag to the tiled floor and using his free hands to grip Calum's belt loops and pull him closer. He doesn't know when they started kissing, or why all the things he wanted to talk about have suddenly gone out the window. But kissing Michael is one of his favorite pastimes, so he doesn't stop it.

His hands slide up over the sleeves of Michael's leather jacket, pulled tight against his barely-there muscles, and he works his hands inside, feeling the heat of Michael's torso against his palms. Swiftly, he pulls the jacket open and Michael helps in shrugging it off, tossing it onto the duffel behind them.

"You should show me your bedroom. Been, like, a month since I fucked you properly," Michael divulges, and Calum whimpers against him, shuddering when Michael's fingers creep up under his shirt to press into the dimples of his back. He nods eagerly, pulling away and breathing hard as he grasps Michael's hand and leads him up to his bedroom.

Mali's bedroom door is open when they pass it, and Michael starts to peer in, opening his mouth to no doubt mention how he didn't know Calum had a sibling. But Calum just yanks him out of view of it, stopping the comment in its tracks as he swings open his bedroom door and shoves Michael into it.

The older boy seems determined, smirking devilishly as he pulls out a strip of condoms and a bottle of lube from his back pockets. Calum rolls his eyes fondly, pushing Michael down onto the mattress with more force than is probably necessary. He leaves the door wide open, feeling brave.

The condoms fall open beside them, and Calum chuckles when he sees how many there are. "How many rounds were you thinking we'd be able to go?"

Michael shrugs, sitting up to pull on Calum's shirt, successfully causing him to lose his balance and fall forward onto the dark haired boy. "I don't intend to stop at one, do you?"

And, well, when he puts it like that, Calum can't even help but moan. Michael seems pleased, arching up to steal another kiss, and Calum just lets him have it. He'd never make Michael work for it, not when he likes it so much himself.

"You need to be more naked, like, _yesterday_ ," Michael complains, and Calum snorts, sticking his tongue out at the boy below him. But he still shimmies back off the bed, ridding himself of his clothes mostly flawlessly as Michael does the same. He almost comments on their efficiency, but Michael would only call him an idiot, which is a total mood killer, and he's not particularly interested in all that noise.

He goes to straddle Michael again once they're both naked, but he's only got one knee on the bed before Michael's lifting him up and rolling them to switched positions. Calum squeals as Michael lands between his spread thighs, turns it into a pleased sigh when Michael starts kissing all over his collarbones.

"Wait," Calum whispers, turning his torso over to reach into his nightstand drawer. Michael doesn't say anything, just cascades his hand down Calum's exposed body and stays put between his legs. He has to feel around blindly for a few seconds before he finds it—the familiar shape of the small bottle Michael gave him the second night they were together.

He clasps his fingers around it, laying back flat again as he lifts the popper up to show Michael. The dark haired boy looks proud, smiling widely and digging his nails into the inside of Calum's thigh.

"You kept my present, such a good boy," Michael murmurs, taking it from Calum and unscrewing the cap. "You remembered what I said about Rush, didn't you?"

Calum blushes, nodding. It makes sex even better, is essentially what Michael had told him, and he's been searching for a reason to experiment with what that meant ever since Michael said it.

Michael sits up a bit, holding the open bottle to one nostril and plugging the other. He sniffs in deeply, shaking his head afterwards, and then he's grinning as he hands it to Calum. The brunette mimics Michael's actions, the familiar spin of his head returning instantaneously.

“I’ll show you,” Michael says excitedly, collapsing on top of him, reaching to the side and tearing a condom off the strip. He tears it open with his teeth and reaches down between them to roll it on, smearing some lube over his cock once he’s done. Calum's alarmed at first that he's getting no prep, but when Michael starts pushing in, and it's fucking _effortless_ , he realizes what Michael's words that night had meant.

All of his muscles are relaxed, just absolutely giving as Michael slides in to the hilt with no difficulty whatsoever. They both release shuddery breaths at the feeling, and Calum swears if there was ever a moment he was at his happiest, it's this one.

He knows the feeling will only last until the popper wears off and Michael is gone, but he pushes that thought away in favor of groaning out the older boy's name.

It pulls a _fantastic_ reaction from Michael, one that includes hitching Calum's legs around his waist and moaning deep in his chest. He plants his weight on his forearms beside Calum's head, a position that feels so overwhelmingly intimate that Calum almost spills out a plethora of words that Michael would hate him for saying. Would literally _dump him_ for saying.

He finds Calum's prostate almost instantly, like he's always known his body and doesn't even have to try. The feeling practically shoots Calum out of his own skin, makes him arch his back up and squeeze his eyes shut as a soft noise bubbles past his lips.

"There, Mikey, you've got it," he babbles, and Michael just grunts in response, thrusting more expertly into the boy below him.

Calum grips the sheets, only to keep from touching himself, because with how blissful Michael's making him feel, it would seem like cheating to finish himself off. At this rate, he's going to come soon anyway, his first time doing so without having even touched his cock.

"Fuck, wish you could see yourself, babe," Michael whispers to him, panting damp against his cheek. "Wish someone else could see you, too. But maybe you'd like that too much. I mean, you left the door open and _everything_. Anyone could walk in, could see how strung out you are for me. All for me."

It's impossible that anyone would pass by the door, since everyone's out of town, but it's the _idea_ that someone might that sends him over the edge, striping come up their stomachs and chests as he turns his head to whimper into the mattress.

Michael follows him shortly after, pushing off his forearms to trace his fingers through the mess Calum's made just before he does. He bites his lip on his sounds, smothering the noises, which disappoints Calum greatly, but he doesn't mind so much with the view he gets—Michael sitting between his thighs, eyes shut and brows knitted together high on his forehead, teeth peeking out occasionally as he chews roughly on his bottom lip.

He's more beautiful like this than Calum's ever seen him, and it makes Calum want to cry knowing it’s all for him, for however brief a moment.

(With the exception of Michael going downstairs to grab his duffel full of clothes and weed, they don't leave the bedroom for the rest of the weekend.)

Luke calls him up the day after Calum's parents return from Melbourne, this time without Mali. It's the first time he's ever been away from her for prolonged amounts of time, and _already_ he misses her, even though it's just a few months until she comes home for break, only a year until he heads out to join her at Uni.

But that seems like ages away, so Calum accepts Luke's offer to spend a day at the beach and boardwalk shops with him and Ashton. It's likely that it was supposed to be one of their dates, but Luke’s one of those people that feels horrendously guilty if he ever blows off a friend.

That's how Calum finds himself awkwardly trailing behind Luke and Ashton as they walk along the beach, whispering and blushing and pretty much dancing around each other. Luke seems like the happiest Calum's ever seen him, combing for sand dollars and handing each of them off to Ashton, who just takes them and rewards the blonde with a soft kiss every single time like it's not getting old yet.

Calum's got the biggest and darkest sunglasses that he could find on, a testament to the fact that he hasn't been outside much during the day since that first night with Michael. The boy's turning him into something of a vampire. He's even got the marks on his neck to prove Michael's been sucking the life out of him, slowly but surely.

It's not as if no one’s noticed them yet, either. Ashton has let his eyes linger on Calum's skin on more than one occasion, only tearing them away when Luke bumps his shoulder and gives him this look that probably only the sandy haired boy can decipher. Some sort of silent communication that they've developed with just their eyes, a way of knowing what the other is thinking without having to say it aloud. Calum's jealous, he won't even lie.

It's just that he's never had anything like it. Maybe with his sister, but that's _Mali_ , that's not someone he fell for. She's someone he's always loved, without a second thought. They've always been the same person, they’re _family_.

Michael, on the other hand; Michael's someone he's pretty sure he's supposed to have that with. The boy he kisses and calls his own, the boy that kisses him right back and wants Calum so desperately he breaks down at the thought of being left alone. But he's also the boy that only wants him when they're high, only crawls into bed with him on his own terms. The boy that claims to be his but isn't here parading around in the daylight with him. Isn't holding his hand and nipping his jaw lovingly and handing him cool shells.

Luke and Ashton are how it's supposed to be, sharing stories about how they're rooming together at University of Sydney next year. Murmuring little inside jokes between stolen kisses when they think Calum's not paying attention, or addressing each other by fond pet names even when they know he is.

 _That’s_ how it's supposed to be, not hiding in the darkness of a bedroom, not blurry vision and slurred speech. The way his best friend looks at his boyfriend is the way boyfriends are supposed to look at each other, not the way Michael and Calum look at each other.

He doesn't think they notice when he slips away from them to catch the bus back home.

  
The next party he attends is at Michael's again, but this time he doesn't have Mali to drive him. So he convinces his parents to let him take the car for the night, promising to be back before 1AM and deciding he won't drink or take anything this time for the sake of keeping that promise.

It's already in full swing by the time Calum pulls into the driveway, music thumping so hard that even out on the lawn, he can feel the bass ricocheting in his chest.

His phone chirps almost right on cue, and when he unlocks it he finds a text from Michael saying he's ready and waiting up in his bedroom. Calum just sighs, pocketing his cell and continuing on into the house.

Even more people recognize him from the last time, clapping hands on his back and greeting him too loudly. He just nods softly in return, making his way to the stairs and ascending them slowly. He's dragging it out, mentally preparing himself for the uphill battle that's going to be his conversation with Michael. The one where he tells Michael he can't keep doing this when they're high, that he needs something _real_ to keep from losing his head.

Sure enough, Michael's waiting for him when he twists open the doorknob and enters the bedroom. He locks it shut behind him, avoiding Michael's gaze coming from where the boy is seated on the bed.

Michael starts to stand, probably intends to approach him, but Calum just turns his head away and backs against the wall. "Mike, wait."

It must catch him off guard, being shut down so quickly. But he stops, tilting his head to listen as Calum pulls in a shaky breath.

"I need to know if you would still want to be with me," Calum starts, clearing his throat, "if we never got high that first time. _Any_ of those times."

The dark haired boy makes a strange noise, one that sounds a little bit broken, and Calum's not sure if he has it in him to look up and watch Michael in this moment. So he opts for watching his feet swivel nervously on the carpet.

"Of course I would, Cal, where are you going with this?" Michael asks, sounding genuinely concerned. Calum would believe him if he wasn't so clouded with bullshit 90% of the time. Would believe him if his _own_ head wasn't filled with doubt about how full of shit Michael is 90% of the time. But the fact is, he can't trust either of the people in this room. Not Michael, not himself.

"It's not healthy, Michael, you know that. Having sex and being in a relationship with someone you're always impaired with? How is that good for anyone involved?" Calum's exasperated and exhausted, and when he finally looks up at Michael, he finds the boy in a similar state. "You know I'm right, Mike, you know it's not good."

Michael steps forward, keeps doing so until he's just inches away from Calum. He reaches up, cupping the back of the brunette's neck and playing with the tendrils of hair at the nape. "I'm not high right now," he says. "Not a drop or gram of anything, I swear, and I still want you. I'll always want you, Cal, don't you get that?"

Michael's eyes are as clear as he says they are, so really, Calum can only hope his head is the same. He leans forward experimentally, ghosting his lips against Michael’s, and all at once he gets that rush that always finds its way back to him.

He wonders briefly if maybe the real high was always Michael. If maybe the drugs had nothing to do with the feelings he's developed, if it was all actually Michael and the things he said.

Michael kisses him a little harder, and Calum falls into him desperately, sculpting his body to the older boy's and letting Michael mold their lips the way he wants them. It's the best kiss so far, slow and sanguine and _sober_.

"Prove it," Calum hums, and Michael just smiles gently against him.

The older boy grabs his hips softly, lighter than he ever has, coaxing Calum towards the bed. He just lets himself be pulled, heart swelling at the tenderness Michael's treating him with.

Michael works his hands under the hem of Calum's tank top, bunching up the fabric and slowly lifting it up and over his head. Calum drops the shirt to the floor, gasping softly when he feels Michael's lips fluttering over his chest and stomach. The boy's sunken down to his knees, looking up at Calum through thick lashes as he works Calum's belt open with sure fingers.

He slides the leather through Calum's belt loops, discarding it somewhere behind himself as he tucks his fingers under the loosened waistband and tugs down. Calum helps, unbuttoning the jeans and wiggling a bit to kick them off his soccer toned legs. As soon as the jeans are removed, Michael's on him, lips trailing from Calum's knee up his thigh. His hand traces the same route on the opposite thigh, sliding round and up to grab a handful of the brunette's ass while he bites softly on Calum's hip.

It's no surprise that he's hard in under a minute, what with all Michael's attention and heavy breathing just inches away from his cock that's tenting in his boxers by this point. But Michael purposely avoids touching him where he's needed most, instead licking over Calum's pelvis and up his barely-there abs. Calum releases a shuddery breath, smiling down at his boy when he looks up innocently through the fringe of his bangs that used to be navy blue but have faded to turquoise.

"Can't get enough of your body," Michael muses, full of wonder. Calum just smiles wider, even though he feels himself blushing at the words.

He reaches down, threading his fingers in Michael's hair and tugging upwards. Michael gets the hint, brings himself back to a standing position that's much better for kissing. Which is what Calum immediately sets to doing, slotting his lips to Michael's and thanking whatever god there might be that the boy's wearing a loose shirt so loose he only has to pull away for less than a second for Michael to remove it. His jeans go next, a bit more difficult of a feat, but otherwise brief, so they're both down to just their underwear in record time.

"Want you to ride me. Do you think you're ready to do that?" Michael asks gently, caressing Calum's sides with his fingertips as he peppers kisses along Calum's neck.

Calum makes a needy sound from somewhere deep in his throat, nodding quickly and ducking his head down to recapture Michael's lips. Kissing is something they've done so often it's like second nature, he doesn't even have to _think_ about where to place his hands (Michael likes them cupping his shoulders) or how to move his lips (Michael likes to lead) anymore. He's just programmed to do it at this point.

"Yeah, can. I can do that." Calum blurts against Michael's lips, and he feels the older boy chuckle against him as he pulls them back towards the bed. He actually _picks Calum up_ , holding him in the air for a moment before laying him gently on his back. Michael slithers up his body, planting a kiss on his nose before nipping it gently and scurrying off, likely for condoms and lube.

He returns to Calum almost immediately, uncapping the small bottle and squeezing the lube onto his fingers. He motions to Calum's boxers with his free hand, and Calum nods, lifting his hips to peel them off himself.

Bared to Michael, he waits, feet planted flat on the mattress and knees bent to spread himself further. Michael just hums in approval, settling between them and gently working his fingers in. It goes smoothly, much better than any of the other times, because Calum's much more accustomed to it now.

Michael stretches him thoroughly, working up to three fingers rather quickly but avoiding Calum's prostate altogether. Not that Calum really minds—he definitely prefers the spark that lights deep in the pit of his stomach when Michael's cock brushes up against it instead.

When he's been deemed open enough, Michael pulls his fingers out, wiping them off on his sheets haphazardly before sliding out of his briefs and flopping down onto his back. Calum giggles as the force of it causes his own body to jump off the mattress a bit, and he rolls up onto his knees, leaning down to kiss the corner of Michael’s mouth softly as he positions his knees on either side of the older boy's hips.

Michael reaches up, resting his hands on Calum's waist, kissing him back just as hungrily while Calum gets his bearings. He reaches back behind himself to stroke Michael's cock, finding it without a condom, which. He's okay with barebacking if Michael is, he _trusts_ the boy, but he makes inquiring eyes at him anyway, just to be sure.

There's that unspoken communication Calum was jealous of, the kind that Luke and Ashton have, only now Michael's nodding and whispering 'I'm sure if you are', and Calum's heart swells to about five times its normal size.

It's that jump from being ignorant of each other's thoughts to being completely in sync that encourages Calum to lift his hips, settling his entrance over the head of Michael's cock, and to finally sink down on it.

A groan practically fights its way out of Michael, who tilts his chin up, clenching his eyes shut and panting heavily at the feeling. Calum feels like he's being split in two, taking Michael like this, but he wouldn't rather have it any other way. Wants to feel it for days, _needs_ it, even.

Calum flutters his own eyes closed, breathing shallowly as he gets his bearings, pulling up only to whimper in pain. It hurts more on top, Calum's realizing, but it can only get better, he reminds himself. Michael just fights through it with him, using his thumbs to stroke along Calum's hips comfortingly. The only sounds in the room are their breaths, shaky and broken, and the muffled sound of the party downstairs.

"Gonna try now," Calum whispers, and Michael nods eagerly, wiggling below him and just waiting. Calum circles his hips, whining when he feels the softest of brushes against his prostate. He clenches down desperately, caught off guard by the intensity of the new angle, and Michael releases his hip with one hand in favor of reaching behind himself, gripping onto the headboard tightly.

"Fuck, you're gonna kill me, Cal. Feels so good." Michael blathers, words so quick they almost slur together as he puffs out sighs and moans in between them.

Calum just tries to work his hips faster in response, taking Michael deeper each time and riding him harder. Eventually Michael starts thrusting up to meet him halfway, which only heightens the sensation. When it fades from discomfort to absolute ecstasy with the continued assault on his prostate, Calum cries out, planting his palms on Michael's shoulder and leaning his weight on them, eyes slipping closed yet again as he lets himself get wrapped up in the blissful feeling.

"Calum, fuck, I love—" Michael chants, but he stops everything as soon as he gets that far. Calum stops, too, eyes shooting open to look down into Michael's that are already widened in horror.

 _Holy shit_.

They've both caught it, and even if the words never came out, they _both_ know what they were going to be. Both know that Michael can blame it on the heat of the moment all he wants, but he was about to tell Calum he loved him.

Now that he's lucid, he can feel it. Can definitely feel what must always have been love pulsating through him, raw and in its purest form. He loves Michael, and for the first time he knows Michael loves him back, in whatever way he knows how.

But of course Michael's too proud, he could never admit it and break the promise he made to himself. "I love, fuck, love the way you feel around me babe, don't stop," Michael attempts, rolling his hips up into the brunette's.

Calum whimpers, disappointed, leaning down so that they're chest to chest and grasping Michael’s jaw with one of his hands. "Oh, for fuck’s sake, just _say it_.”

Michael turns his head away, ripping himself from Calum's touch in favor of squeezing his eyes shut and burying the side of his face into the pillows below him. "You know I can't," he says softly. "You _know_.”

And yeah, Calum _does_ know. Knows that the stupid reason Michael can't admit he loves Calum is because he told him that he never would. It's all about pride with Michael, because god forbid he ever let himself act like a human being for once. God forbid he lets himself be _wrong_.

So Calum gets desperate. "Just tell me, and I'll go with you. Anywhere, everywhere." He spills the words out before he can even think about what they mean, peppering needy kisses to Michael's cheeks and feeling hot tears spill down his own. "I won't go to Melbourne. I'll stay with you, forever, always. Michael, _please_ , I just need to hear you say it."

It's true. He's pretty sure that in this moment, he needs to hear those three little words from Michael more than he needs his next breath.

Michael opens his eyes again, rolling his head back up to look Calum dead in the eye when he spits hostilely, "It doesn't work like that. Not for us, remember?" He bends his torso up, making sure his mouth is only inches away from Calum's when he throws the brunette's previous words from that night on the roof back in his face without any remorse. "We're different people, y'know?"

"God, you're such a _dick,_ ” Calum growls, and he can _feel_ his blood heating, can even feel his head clouding with rage as he sits up straight, clasping his hand around Michael's neck and shoving him down flat on his back again.

It's a few slow beats in time later that Calum registers the scene—his fingers digging into the flesh of Michael's throat hard enough to bruise, Michael's eyes bulged wide and mouth open but no sound coming out.

Calum reels himself back, gasping as hard as Michael does when he sucks in a deep, desperate breath. "Mike, fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't—"

" _Again_ ,” Michael fucking _moans_ , and it takes Calum another few seconds to piece together that Michael _liked it_ , liked the restriction on his lungs, or maybe just liked Calum throwing him back a little thunder for once.

He hesitates, but hovers his hand over Michael's throat nonetheless, mouth dropping open in shock when Michael tilts his neck up into it, just _using_ Calum's hand to restrict his own airway. He has to moan, there's no other option for him in that moment.

" _Fuck_ ," Michael croaks, pushing himself harder into the touch and Calum gives it back, pressing his hand down a bit more firmly whilst simultaneously rotating his hips. They both cry out, Calum's ringing clear and Michael's stifled by the pressure on his trachea. The pressure he's clearly fucking gone for, pushing up so hard he stops breathing altogether and Calum takes his hand away just before Michael looks like he might ask him to. The boy breathes in deep, chest heaving with the force of it, and he digs his nails into Calum’s hips, holding the boy steady above him before he thrusts up roughly, repeatedly.

Calum whimpers, closing his eyes and bending to get his prostate hit at a better angle. He rests his palms on Michael's thighs, leaning back on them and struggling to keep his weight upright while Michael slams into him over and over.

It's gone from sweet and gentle to angry and rough in just seconds, and it strangely feels even more like love than it had before. Like this is how it would always be for them, passionate and heated and with no restrictions. Calum would choke Michael until he passed out, if that's what he needed. And he knows Michael would do the same, at least in this moment.

They're already as close as they could _possibly_ be, not even the rubber of a condom separating them now, but Calum needs more. Needs to feel like he belongs to someone—more specifically, to Michael. He wants to feel used, possessed, _loved_.

"Mike," Calum ghosts out, and Michael hums in response, eyes closed and mouth bitten raw.

"Tell me what you need." Michael whispers back.

Calum starts pushing his hips down to meet Michael halfway, increasing the pressure on his prostate and punching little wrecked sounds from his mouth. "I need you to mark me up. Give me something _permanent_ , I need to feel you like this forever."

It's a bit much, maybe, especially when Michael stops moving and just looks up at him blankly. Calum whimpers out a 'don't stop', but Michael just smacks his knee to get him to focus.

"Close your eyes, then," Michael instructs, and Calum pauses. Closing his eyes exposes him so much more than he already is, and he's not entirely sure of that scares him or delights him. Doesn't know if he trusts Michael. He loves him, but he doesn't even know if he can trust him, what the hell is that about?

But in the end, he nods, fluttering his eyes closed and slowly getting back into his rhythm of lifting his hips and grinding back down on Michael's cock. It's agonizing, not knowing the next move of his boyfriend or when it's going to come, but the idea that maybe he's not even doing anything, is just watching Calum rile himself up for nothing, makes him gasp and slam himself down harder. God, he's so hard, so wet, his cock dripping with precome and he could honestly just blow his load right now. He _will_ , he's fucking going to—

Something singes his thigh, right in the middle on top of his quads. His eyes shoot open of their own accord, and he looks down at Michael in shock. The dark haired boy is smirking, lifting up an almost burnt out cigarette butt he must've grabbed from the ashtray. It probably wasn't even all the way out yet, perhaps something Michael was smoking while he waited for Calum to arrive. But it feels fucking _ace_ , and Calum moans for it, pushing his legs back towards it and nodding eagerly.

Michael just smirks, hovering the lit end centimeters away from Calum’s tanned skin. The brunette just keeps on moaning, louder in volume and higher in pitch the more he psyches himself up, absolutely out of his mind for it. He _needs_ the burn again, the pain it caused, the knowledge that it's going to scar him forever, that he'll always have this night and this memory on his skin.

" _Do it_ , Mike, I'm gonna fucking come," Calum's shaking, literally vibrating as he works himself on Michael's cock, sweat dripping into his eyes and _burning_ , but he can't look away. His pupils are honed in on the butt, feeling it's heat radiate on his skin and praying to anyone—anything—that Michael will just _slam_ it on him.

And that's just what the older boy does. He waits a few more torturous seconds, then whispers out, 'my perfect boy', pressing and twisting the cigarette right on the juncture between Calum's hip and thigh.

The brunette fucking _screams_ , feels tears in his eyes as he grinds on Michael’s cock for less than a second before he's coming, harder than ever, and then even harder still. It feels like ages, could probably be _minutes_ , and he collapses down into Michael's chest as soon as the worst (best) of it is over.

Michael tosses the butt somewhere irrelevant, scooping Calum up in his arms before rolling them over and pinning the boy to the mattress. He thrusts in quick and rough, and Calum almost _sobs_ because he's way too sensitive, but he sticks through it to watch Michael’s face as he unfolds, falls apart and shakes against him, pulls out just in time to come up Calum's already messy stomach. Not that Calum minds, it's just another reminder that he won't be upset about.

"You're fucking _mine_ ,” Michael growls in his ear, and Calum just kisses his shoulder to tell him that _absolutely_ he's Michael's. Always.

His skin is still angrily red and blistering the next morning, but when he touches on one of the cigarette burns softly, it aches to the point he has to get a hand on himself immediately to relieve the pressure. When Michael undoubtedly wakes up, he sucks him off as a reward for being so good the night before.

They don't talk about the slip up, and he doubts they ever will.

They don't talk for another week after The Incident. Michael doesn't invite him over, doesn't even shoot him a text late at night talking about how he's drunk and can't stop thinking about Calum's hands (which has actually happened before. _Twice_.). But so far all Calum's got is nothing.

His parents say he looks really good that whole week. He ignores that.

What pulls him out of the weird slump he's sunken into is a text from Ashton, of all people. Calum's not entirely sure when or why he stole the number from Luke’s phone, but he doesn't have it in him to care all that much.

Ashton sends him an address, as well as a smiley face and a 'Luke said you could use some fun. Join us here tonight xx' that tells him it's a personal message, not part of a group text.

If Luke and Ashton are going to be there, it's likely that they assume Michael won't be. Calum isn't the biggest fan of parties without Michael by his side, but still, he goes.

It's not a house Calum's ever seen, in a pretty average suburban neighborhood he's never ventured into. Other than the unfamiliar layout, it's nice, and he pretty much sticks by Luke the whole time. Several people greet him, a few ask to dance—which he politely declines—and one girl even asks for his number after they have a brief but otherwise friendly conversation. But he declines that, too, feeling strangely guilty at the idea he may have unintentionally flirted with someone that wasn't Michael.

It feels hot and sticky in the room as soon as Michael slides into his thoughts. Not that he ever really went away, just sort of...muted. But Calum feels breathless anyway, mumbling to Luke that he's going to find a bathroom. A little cold water on his face could probably cure his swirly head.

Finding a bathroom is an adventure in itself, really, since there's _so many people_ and only two washrooms to counteract the six bedrooms. Eventually, he finds a door that looks promising, sees it’s cracked open slightly, glints of dull light peeking through.

It can't be that weird to peer in, Calum decides, just to make sure he's in the right place. He can blame it on alcohol he hasn't ingested if he gets caught. Not that he intends to get caught, but.

Calum squints, leaning in just slightly to look into the room, but as soon as he does, he wishes he'd just stayed home.

Because that's _his boy_ in there, but that's not the boy he remembers from a week ago, painfully sober and open and bleeding love. No. It's Michael, but still, this isn't a boy he knows.

 _This_ boy has dark bags under his eyes like he hasn't slept or kept himself healthy. He's sitting on the countertop as another boy with stark black hair and equally as dark stubble holds a spoon in his hand, holding a lighter underneath it and watching to see whatever's inside it boil.

Calum almost sobs. He barely covers his mouth in time to mask the sound he _does_ make, a whispery gasp of disbelief. But neither of the boys in the bathroom hears or registers him, just continue on with this thing they're doing.

He knows what it is, knew as soon as he saw the spoon and the thin leather belt Michael pulled from his jeans.

The other boy in the room—Calum's seen him around before, but never knew his name. He wouldn't be surprised if Michael didn't even know it—nods, and Michael beams, slinging the belt around his bicep and tightening it like a tourniquet.

Calum heaves, looking away as soon as he sees the Mystery Boy pull a syringe out of his back pocket. He doesn't want to see it happen, doesn't want to know its real, but he finds himself sliding his eyes back to the crack in the door reluctantly.

Michael's holding the excess leather piece between his teeth, keeping the belt tight and secure as he fills the syringe up with the substance in the spoon.

 _Heroin_ , Calum realizes. He's never seen it done, but he's watched enough Law and Order with Mali to get the gist. Michael glances up at Mystery Boy briefly, and the man nods encouragingly. It's an interesting twist, seeing _Michael_ as the oblivious, nervous one, but all at once he stops looking nervous and starts looking half-conscious as he sinks the needle into an otherwise unsuspecting vein.

And then Calum _really_ stops watching, reeling back and feeling the familiar clench at the back of his throat. He's got to get out of here, he's gonna wretch.

It's not his boy. Michael is _definitely_ not the guy Calum thought he was. At least, he's not anymore. He used to be, he had potential just a week ago. But somehow, in the space of seven days, he's gone from popping party drugs and inhalants to flat out injecting the hard stuff. And that, well. That's not something Calum's sure he's equipped to deal with.

Michael hasn't left him, and he hasn't left Calum, so he’s still supposed to look out for Michael, Calum's pretty sure of that. But he's not positive on how he can do that when Michael won't let him in, won't let them say the simplest words to each other. When he jumps headfirst into a completely different level of dark side that Calum hasn't even seen, has only heard about, without even giving him a warning.

Calum walks home, doesn't even bother with the bus. It's a _long_ walk, one that takes him nearly an hour and a half with his dazed pace.

When he gets to his front lawn, he dry heaves into the shrubs surrounding the driveway, half wishing he'd eaten something so he could get this feeling _out_ , and half thankful that he hadn't.

He steadies himself, trying not to think of Michael's dark eyes and stormy soul as he quietly maneuvers his way up to his room. Briefly, he debates sliding into Mali's room and curling up into her bed, just for the familiarity and comfort she offers even when she's absent, but he realizes if he falls asleep there his parents will find him the next morning and ask about a million questions. And that's something he doesn't want. He never wants _anyone_ to ask about this night.

An hour goes by of mindlessly laying on his bed, eyes glued to the ceiling fan blowing cool circles down on him, before he realizes he never told Luke he was leaving the party for good. So he sits up, searching blindly over his covers in the dark room for his cell phone. When he finds it, he shoots off an apology and half assed explanation to his friend that undoubtedly won't be bought, but also won't be investigated. Luke knows his limits.

He's about to turn his phone off for the night, but right on cue, with his impeccable timing, Michael's caller ID pops up. There's no contact photo, because Calum never bothered with one. He doesn't have any pictures of them together, not even of just Michael. It's like he may as well not even exist, which seems particularly far away from relationship behavior. However, Nobody besides Luke and Mali even know they're together, so they sure as hell don't look or function like any couple Calum's ever seen. But then again, it's not like he had any experience to really base it off of when he entered the relationship. Michael did, and still they're unhealthy like this.

"What?" Calum answers, voice more sad than angry. He hadn't meant for it to, had actually been gearing up to let the older boy have it, but the only thing he does is crack his voice and pray that he doesn't cry.

"Caaaal," Michael slurs. He sounds airy, and drunk. Definitely drunk. Calum wonders if the combination of alcohol over heroin would kill him. He hates himself for feeling so heartbroken over the fact that it might. Michael doesn't deserve his heart right now. "There was a sweet party tonight, you missed it! I missed you."

Calum knows Michael didn't miss him. Michael only means that he had a new drug he wanted Calum to try with him, a drug Calum now knows he wouldn't have touched with a ten foot pole. Maybe it's better that Michael didn't know he actually had been there. If he had shown his face and shot Michael down, maybe it would've all come crashing down right then and there. Calum's fucking angry that he's glad he hadn't, angry that he's so thankful it didn't all end tonight.

The thing is this: Calum gets it now. Gets that Michael only loves him with the lights off, when nobody can see them and when Calum can't see him. But Calum will keep running back, because he's so fucking _stupidly_ in love with Michael that he'd leave the lights off forever, feigning ignorance, if it meant Michael would keep holding him.

Still, he whispers, "You're not good for me," because he knows Michael's not.

But Michael won't remember those words tomorrow morning, and Calum will pretend they're not the truth.

They'll both pretend Michael's not spiraling out of control, and they'll both pretend they're not falling toxically in love.

For the last weeks of summer, they fake it to make it. At least, they try to.

Calum keeps going over when Michael invites him for a smoke, and he keeps taking ecstasy at the parties they go to, and he keeps letting Michael fuck him because it feels so real that he wants to cry every time, in the best way.

But there's this thing, and the thing is that somewhere along the line of pretending not to notice when Michael sneaks off with some 'mate named Zayn from this party I went to' and comes back with dark eyes and angst in his words, Calum stops noticing the way Michael's eyes linger on him when he wears Michael's shirts to go downstairs for a soda. Stops noticing the way Michael will invite him over and fuck him when they're not even high. Stops noticing how when Michael kisses him, it's soft and tender, like he's whispering his feelings through the brush of their lips.

He stops noticing the way Michael is falling for him, but in the daylight this time.

But he's always aware of Michael, always. He couldn't possibly _not_ be.

They're sitting in Calum's backyard, since his parents aren't home, underneath the shade of one of the trees that's probably as old as their grandfathers. The sun is finally setting, and in a few hours it'll be midnight, signaling the start of the final week of summer. It's a nostalgic feeling, the one Calum has right now, with smoke in his chest and a fuzzy brain and Michael wrapped around him. It's strangely domestic, the way he trails his fingertips along Michael's arm, the way Michael buries his face in Calum's neck and breathes him in deep.

He takes his final hit from the joint, handing it out to Michael to offer him the last one. Michael declines, and Calum flicks the ashes somewhere in the lawn, the smell disappearing with the smoke.

"Summer's ending soon," Michael says simply, but it's not all that simple.

The ending of summer signifies a fork in their road, the one where they have to decide between the future and each other, because it's obvious they can't have both together. It would just kill them slowly.

"Yeah," Calum murmurs back, voice thick in the even thicker heat of the air around them. He turns over onto his side, so they can have this conversation face to face.

Michael pauses, like he's trying to think of the best way to vocalize the words Calum can practically _see_ building up in his throat. He nibbles lightly on his lip, looking up through his lashes. It's the smallest, most sheepish Michael's ever looked in the time Calum's known him, and it's a bit alarming.

"So, um, I think I'll leave soon, probably." Michael says meekly. And he doesn't mean he's going to leave Calum’s place and head home soon, Calum knows that. Michael means that the time has finally come, and he's made his decision to pack up his things and leave Sydney for good. Even though he'd said Calum being with him was enough to make him stay, Calum's not offended. He knows he isn't enough, knows that at the end of the day Michael's not going to be enough for him, either.

"Yeah." Calum just repeats, seemingly at a loss for words.

Emerald eyes lock with his, glassy and red, but he's not sure if it's from smoking or repressed tears. "You can come with me, you know. I'd always take you along."

Calum hesitates, a reaction that usually cements the fact that he's about to give in. And he sort of wants to give in, to drive off with Michael in his Shelby and forget all about anything that happens in the real world.

But he sees the bruises and injection marks on Michael's arms, and he can see the scratch marks and nicks from where Michael's clawed at himself in withdrawal, and Calum knows it'll only be worse if he follows him down his inevitable path. He needs to stay here.

Living without Michael will be like living in _constant_ withdrawal, he thinks, because Michael's a drug and he's absolutely addicted. But still, he sighs, and Michael understands that Calum isn't coming with him. And when Michael nods once, Calum understands that his refusal of the offer has signaled the beginning of the end for them. So before Michael can get higher, can forget him, Calum leans forward and brushes his lips against his boy's, tries to ignore the heart wrenching way Michael whimpers and shakes as he kisses back fiercely.

Five nights later, and they're parked down the street from Calum's house where Michael picked him up in the Shelby. The streetlights this far down are scarce, and it's dark—the neighborhood is asleep, and so is almost the rest of Sydney. There's shadows cast across their faces and they can barely see each other, but it's okay because that means nobody outside could see them if they were to pass by, either.

They're in the passenger seat, Michael straddling Calum's waist in nothing but their underwear, his inner thighs pressed over Calum's broad hips, and they're kissing.

It's desperate, the way Michael slots his red lips with Calum's, tongues meddling together, exploring like it’s the last chance they're ever going to get. Maybe it is.

Calum could kiss him forever—he never wants to stop feeling Michael draped over him like this, pressed so close with the dusky scent of cologne and sweat flooding his senses. Calum's love for him is so big his heart hurts with the weight of it. He just wishes he could _tell him that_.

But he can't, and he knows that, so he just clasps his hand around the back of Michael's neck, gripping hard and pulling the older boy against him harder.

Michael pulls away for air, panting heavily before rolling his hips down. They're both hard, have been since they started kissing and shed their clothes nearly a half hour ago. Calum's mouth fucking hurts, so raw and abused from Michael's teeth nipping at it, but he wouldn't have it any other way in this moment. He needs it to hurt, needs to feel it forever. Needs to _never_ be able to forget this moment no matter how hard he tries to.

He thinks maybe Michael needs that same thing, because he curls into Calum's chest like he needs to be coddled, and whispers something Calum has never heard or expected from him.

"I want you to fuck _me_ this time, Cal."

Calum stops breathing momentarily, but he nods, running his fingers through Michael's dye-damaged hair and messing it up royally. Neither of them seems to care, though, as Michael leans back and awkwardly tries to remove his boxers in the cramped space. Calum opts for bridging his hips up and sliding his own down just enough to reveal his cock, pressed flush and hard against his stomach.

Michael strips eventually, and once he's naked he's back on Calum like the lack of contact has nearly killed him. He positions himself so that their cocks are lined up, whimpering when Calum gets a hand between them, wraps his fingers around both of them and starts jerking slowly. It's only somewhat awkward, the angle not entirely optimal, but it doesn't matter because Michael is kissing him again and that's the only thing he ever wants to feel for the rest of his life.

The older boy reaches behind Calum into the barely-there backseat, shuffling around before he makes a satisfied noise and comes back with a camera in his hand. It's a clunky thing, old fashioned, the kind with the giant square flash and single print Polaroids.

Michael pulls back, brows drawing together up on his forehead for a second when Calum flicks his thumb over the slit of Michael's cock, smearing the precome he's collected there down over them to make it wetter and easier.

And then he pulls up the camera, aiming it at Calum's fucked-out face, and he snaps a picture.

The flash is ridiculous, and Calum is somewhat blinded afterwards even though his eyes had been closed. When he reopens them, Michael is shaking out the Polaroid, whining when it develops and he gets eyes on a frozen image of his boyfriend's sex induced state.

"You look so good," Michael murmurs, aiming the camera down between their stomachs, to get a picture of Calum's hand on them, which really shouldn't be so hot. But Calum stops jerking his hand so that the picture Michael takes won't be blurry, instead working his thumb hard and slow over the head of Michael’s cock.

Michael moans loudly at that, snapping the picture quickly before leaning his back against the dashboard and bucking into Calum's fist desperately. "Fuck, _baby_ , I'm gonna come."

Calum isn't sure if that's a good thing, if Michael coming now will mean it's all over afterwards. So he asks, "Want me to stop?"

The older boy seems to think about it for a second, but he just shakes his head and makes a greedy little noise. "No, don't stop, I'll come again. I can do it."

That pulls a groan out of Calum almost immediately as he begins doubling his efforts and dropping his own cock altogether, giving everything he can to Michael, who's absolutely writhing. His elbows are planted on the dashboard, holding himself up as he presses the side of his head against the window and pants against it. He looks sinful, and that's when Calum decides to take the camera from him, snapping his own picture to capture Michael's face literally the _second_ before he comes—Calum's favorite face of Michael’s.

When he comes down, the mess he'd made striped up Calum's stomach, Michael takes another picture. This time it's just of Calum's torso, but one of the scars made from the cigarette burns undoubtedly gets caught in the image, and that thought makes him smile.

Michael holds the camera out to the side, facing them, and he collapses on Calum, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss. It's so soft it could almost be innocent, but the sweat glistening their skin and the flushes creeping up their chests and cheeks only proves it’s a lazy post-orgasm kiss, and definitely not innocent.

Michael snaps a photo of it.

"Gonna ride you. Don't stop touching me, wanna stay hard. S'easier," Michael instructs.

Calum frowns. "I don't want to hurt you, aren't you sensitive?"

Michael nods, but just plants another kiss to Calum's cheek before pulling back and hunting through the console. He winces when Calum continues to jerk him, not even giving him a chance to go soft, but Michael doesn't seem to mind, because he whispers words of encouragement as he pulls out a travel packet of lube.

"No condom?" Calum inquires, and Michael just smiles softly before shaking his head.

"No. Want to feel as much of you as I possibly can. Need it."

Calum nods in understanding, because he needs it, too. He's desperate to take any form of Michael that he can, because summer is ending, and Michael is leaving, and he doesn't know _when_. It could be a month from now, or maybe six months from now. But it could also be the second after he drops Calum back off at home. Calum's only request had been that Michael warned him, but the older boy has already done that, back in Calum's yard that evening. It's all Calum can do to not beg him to stay as he waits for the ball to drop.

Michael grabs Calum's wrist, pulling his hand away from his cock and tearing open the packet. Cautiously, he dribbles the lube onto Calum's somewhat slick fingers, kissing the back of his hand for encouragement.

It's not entirely a foreign thing to Calum, since he's been fingered open before, but he's never _done it_ to someone. While he doubts it's Michael's first time bottoming, it's his first time doing so with Calum, and the last thing he'd ever want to do is disappoint Michael. So needless to say, he’s a bit nervous.

The nerves dissipate just a bit when Michael leans forward, kissing at his neck and sucking the way he knows Calum likes, even taking a picture of him doing so.

With lifted confidence, Calum slips his wet hand around Michael's waist, spreading his cheeks with his free hand. Michael moans breathlessly the second his finger starts teasing itself in, nods into Calum's shoulder and rocks his hips a bit to urge him in deeper.

Calum obliges, thrusting his finger in to the second knuckle, soothing Michael's hip with strokes of his thumb.

"Go ahead, you can add another one," Michael directs, and Calum doesn't argue, just works his index finger in beside his middle, shushing Michael's shaky breathing with a chaste kiss. It doesn't last that long, unfortunately, because Michael's tossing his head back and grunting out a 'Right there, baby, _again_ ' after Calum's fingertips brush up against what must've been his prostate.

Michael reaches back and swats at Calum's hand, and with furrowed eyebrows, Calum removes his fingers. He's not entirely sure why Michael thinks two is enough, still isn't by the time the older boy grabs Calum's cock and positions it at his entrance, circling the head of it against him.

Michael brings their eyes to each other with a caress of Calum's jaw, and doesn't let either of them blink or look away when he sinks down onto Calum's cock. Even when Calum almost loses it, shaking and vibrating with the _impossible_ tightness around him, Michael's eyes blaze so bright he can't possibly look anywhere but _right at them._

"Fuck," Calum breathes, and Michael agrees with a curt nod and grind of his hips. He doesn't look to be in too much pain, but maybe he's just better at hiding it than Calum ever was.

He hardly waits a few seconds before he's repositioning his knees on either side of Calum's thighs, using the leverage to bring himself up and rock back down firmly. Calum bites his lip, almost wants to cry, because this is the closest they've ever been. Even when they did it like this before, with Calum on top, it didn't feel the same.

Because this time, Michael isn't hiding his emotion. He's blatantly planting wet kisses over Calum's face, whispering endearing words and calling him _baby_ , for fuck’s sake. Calum loves the hell out of him.

"You feel so good," Michael mutters, and it sounds like he's just sort of saying it to himself, but Calum gives him a flattered kiss anyway. "So deep, I can feel you fuckin' _everywhere_.”

Calum moans softly, bringing both his hands up to cup at Michael's neck, pulling him down and into him, chest to chest, so he can kiss his boy better. And they stay like that, rocking into each other so fucking slowly.

He imagines this is a lot like married people sex. Not because they're married or anything, obviously, but because it's so slow and easy and their lips are ghosting each other's in that unspoken language Calum's always craved to have with Michael. And now he's finally got it, and he feels such fondness that he could probably burst. But he doesn't, he just keeps kissing Michael and thrusting his hips up shallowly.

Michael comes first, shaking and whimpering with the force of it being his second of the evening. When he comes, he wraps both his arms around Calum's neck and buries his face in his neck.

"I need you," Michael says to him, low and desperate and broken, and Calum knows it's the closest to 'I Love You' he's ever going to get. Michael needs him to feel whole, and as long as he can say that, Calum's willing to take it.

"I need you, too," Calum whispers, knowing his real message has gotten through when Michael leans back and kisses him hotly.

Calum comes then, too, thrusting up a few times before stilling completely, bliss washing over him in almost painful waves. Michael's clenching around him, drawing it out, and Calum keeps right on kissing him the entire time.

(It takes him several minutes to build up the courage to get out of the car once they've gotten dressed and pulled back up to Calum's house, but he convinces himself that not knowing where they're going from here is easier. So he leans over the console, kissing Michael as hard as he _possibly_ can, letting his fingers memorize the length of his boy's jaw line and allowing his eyes to scan as much of his body as he can before he inevitably has to let him go.)

It ends two days later, on the final afternoon of the summer.

Comically, it ends when it's raining—or maybe _because_ it's raining; Michael never _did_ like the gloomy weather despite the storms inside him—and it ends because Calum can't look at Michael without feeling the smoke scratching him deep in his lungs or the sting behind his eyes from sleepless nights spent coming down from the high.

It ends with a letter on his doorstep (along with a box of the Polaroids—minus the one of his own face, Michael must’ve taken that one—that Calum's thankful his mum isn't home to find before Calum does) telling him that Michael's skipped town like he always said he would, with empty promises of "maybe we'll meet again" even though both of them know they never will, know that they never should.

It ends because Calum and Michael fell in love, because it spiraled them hopelessly out of control, and it ends because that was never part of the plan.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow/chat with me on [my tumblr](http://dafeedil.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Twitter: @SwanS0ngs
> 
> BONUS: CHECK OUT THIS [VINE](https://vine.co/v/eOXKgz1iPQ0) THAT SOMEONE MADE FOR THE FIC.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Don't Go Home Without Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8906815) by [lucasashtons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucasashtons/pseuds/lucasashtons)




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